It was hours before Miles and Mrs. Hastings returned, but the moment I heard them enter, I came running.
"It is definitely pneumonia," Mrs. Hastings declared, her lips trembling. She started to sob. "He's under oxygen. It's such a pathetic sight. Oh dear, dear."
I tried to comfort her.
"You should have something to eat, something hot to drink, Mrs. Hastings, and stop blaming yourself. It's no one's fault."
"Yes," she said. "Something hot to drink," she muttered. "You're so right. Thank you, dear." She went off to the kitchen.
"How is he really, Miles?" I asked. Somehow I knew he would tell me the cold truth.
"His fever is very, very high. Troy has a history of sickness and poor resistance. I'm afraid there is serious concern."
My heart sank. I could feel the blood rushing to my face. My butterflies exploded in a mad frenzy in my stomach, circling and circling, the tips of their paper-thin wings tickling my insides.
"You don't mean he could die, do you, Miles?" I held my breath to hear his reply.
"It's very serious, Miss," he said and gazed at his watch. "I have to be off to the airport. Mr. and Mrs. Tatterton will be arriving soon. I imagine I'll take them directly to the hospital," he added.
"Poor Tony and Momma. They'll be so shocked," I said. He nodded and left quickly.
I spent the rest of the afternoon waiting in trepidation. Every time I heard a phone ringing my heart stopped. None of the calls had anything to do with Troy, however. Unable to wait any longer, I had Mrs. Hastings call the hospital and ask the nurse on Troy's floor for an update. There had been no improvement. In fact, I gathered from the way Mrs. Hastings listened and nodded, her eyes widening, her mouth collapsing, that if anything, he was a little worse.
Finally, I heard a commotion at the front entrance and came out of the music room to see Momma making a grand entrance: servants carrying in luggage, and she shouting orders and complaining to Curtis about the cold weather and the long trip, Tony wasn't with her.
"MOMMA!" I shouted. "THANK GOD, YOU'RE BACK!"
"Amen to that," Momma said and followed it with a thin, long laugh. She pulled off her gloves. Even though she was complaining about the cold and the trip, she looked fresh and beautiful. She had bright, rosy cheeks and wore a new black sable hat and a matching sable coat with black velvet gloves and ski pants. Gold drop earrings dangled from her ears. She stepped aside so Miles could bring in the ski equipment.
She hugged me quickly and whispered, "You wouldn't think a honeymoon could be exhausting, Leigh, but believe me, this one was. I'm absolutely drained, sapped of every ounce of energy. I can't wait to get into my soft bed and close my eyes."
"But Momma, where's Tony? You know about Troy, don't you?"
"Of course. Tony went directly to the hospital. We left him there," she said. "Wait until you see some of the things I've bought in Europe, Leigh," she said without pausing for a breath. "After I've had a good rest, I'll show you everything and tell you everything." She leaned toward me again and whispered, "And I mean everything." Then she started for the stairway. "But for now . . . a hot bath . . rest . . ."
"But Momma, what about little Troy?" She turned at the foot of the stairway and looked confused. "What about him?"
"He's so sick and . ."
"Well, he's in the hospital, Leigh. What more can we do?"
"Did you see him?"
"Certainly not," she said shaking her head. "You don't expose yourself to those things if you don't have to."
"But . ."
"You didn't, did you? All we need now," she said before I could reply, "is for you to become sick too. I just haven't the strength and energy for that. Not right now, anyway." She started up the stairway. "I'll call you as soon as I'm rested," she added.
How could she be so uncaring and worry only about herself at a time like this? Was she always this selfish? I asked myself. And why was her honeymoon so exhausting? Wasn't it supposed to be the most wonderful time of your life, especially to go somewhere as luxurious as the hotel that she and Tony had gone to where they could do fun things and be together day in and day out, with romantic meals and music? Honeymooners shut the world out and enjoy each other and the miracle of their love, I thought.
How could she leave Tony alone in the hospital, no matter how tired she was? Even if I deeply resented his presence in my life I had quickly grown to love his little brother. And Troy was almost like Momma's stepson now. Tony was surely very concerned and upset. Wasn't that a time for a wife to be close to her husband, to comfort and to support him? Instead, she had herself brought home and she was going to take a hot bath and go to sleep. She was worried about her beauty rest. Perhaps this marriage was no better than her marriage to Daddy, since this new one was also a marriage built on a lie.
Momma was so different, I thought, and then I thought, maybe she was always this way, but I just hadn't noticed because I saw her only with a child's eyes. But that day I overheard the conversation between her and Grandma Jana aged me faster than I had wanted to age. The rose tint had been peeled back off my world. Now many things that had once been as bright and as colorful as a rainbow were gray.
I went up to my room and sat on my bed looking at the little horse Troy had made me for Christmas. No matter how rich we are, no matter how beautiful or how powerful we think we are, we're all really just as fragile and as delicate as this little ceramic toy Troy made me, I thought. I clutched it tightly to me and said a silent prayer.
Sitting there I fell asleep, and it was after six o'clock when I awoke. Twilight made my bedroom dismal and full of shadows. I felt a chill as if a wintry wind had slipped into the big house under the front doors and wound its way through the rooms and up the stairway directly to my bedroom. It draped itself over me like some blanket sewn with threads of ice. I shuddered and embraced myself. It felt like a bad omen.
Troy, I thought frantically, and hopped out of bed quickly. The corridor was dim and quiet. My heart began to pound. The house seemed muted, hushed, as if it had been deserted by everyone but its ghosts.
Fearing the worst, I glided like a sleepwalker down the corridor to Momma's suite and listened at the doorway. It was just as quiet. I opened the outer door and tiptoed through the sitting room to gaze into her bedroom.
She was still in bed, fast asleep, a thick blanket over her, her golden hair loose and lying over a large fluffy pillow. Boxes and packages covered the floor. Her new sable coat, the sable hat, her ski pants and boots were still where she had draped them over chairs and benches when she had undressed to take her bath. How could she still be sleeping? Didn't she care at all about sweet little Troy?
I found no one in the rooms downstairs. Finally in the kitchen I discovered all the servants gathered around the table talking softly. They turned to me the moment I entered. They were all of one face--darkeyed, somber, concerned.
"Has there been any news?" I asked, fearful of what their reply would be.
"Oh dear," Mrs. Hastings said. "Mr. Tatterton called a little over an hour ago to say Troy's fever has gone even higher. His breathing is very labored. He's in critical condition."
They all stared at me, waiting for my reaction.
"I want to go to the hospital, Miles," I said. "Will you take me?"
He looked from Rye to Mrs. Hastings to the other servants, not knowing how he should react to my request.
"Your mother might not want you to go," he finally said.
"My mother, "I replied, pounding the word, "is asleep. I'll be ready in five minutes. Please bring the car up front," I demanded, and left before there could be any further discussion.
I found Tony talking to a nurse in the waiting room of the Boston General Hospital. He had his long, cashmere coat draped over his arm. For once I felt no anger, hatred, or resentment toward him--all of my emotions were for Troy now. In fact, I thought Tony looked more tanned and handsome than ever.
"Leigh!" he cried as soon as he set eyes on me. He ru
shed across the waiting room to greet me. "Is Jillian with you?" He peered over my head and through the entranceway behind me.
"No. She's sleeping," I replied, unable to hide my disapproval. His face sank, the brightness that had come into his eyes quickly fading.
"Has there been any change?"
"Some slight change for the better. His temperature has dropped half a degree. It's very nice of you to have come to be with me. Thank you."
"Oh, Tony, I'm so worried about him. We had such a good time together while you and Momma were away, but honestly, we didn't do anything that would have made him sick. We were outside a lot, but he was always properly dressed, and whenever he showed any signs of getting cold, we went right back inside. And he had a good appetite and . . ."
"Hold on . . hold on." Tony seized my elbows in his hands. "Troy's been sick like this before. It's just his nature. No one can predict it. I don't blame anyone, least of all you. Stop thinking about it." He looked at his watch. "It will be a while yet before the doctor can say anything new about Troy's condition and it's just about dinnertime. I know a nice little Italian restaurant eat far from here," he said. "Hungry?"
"Sure, you must be. I haven't eaten since early morning. There's no point in us just sitting here. Come on," he said putting on his coat and then taking my arm into his. 1 couldn't help my hesitation. I hadn't demanded to be brought here so I could eat dinner in Boston. I wanted to be near Troy.
But, I thought, if Tony felt it was all right to leave for a little while to get something to eat, I supposed it was all right.
"Troy's getting the best possible treatment," Tony said, after we were seated at a small table by the window. "That little tyke has a way of pulling out of crises when he wants to, and now that you're living with us at Farthy, I know he wants to live and be well more than ever." He reached across the table to pat my hand reassuringly.
"I hope so," I said, nearly following it with a sob.
"Let's eat. They have wonderful pasta here. Let me do the ordering for both of us," he said. How sophisticated he was, pronouncing the Italian words perfectly. The waiter recognized his worldly ways immediately and was immediately impressed. I could see it in the way he listened and nodded. Tony then turned and stared at me for a moment. His sharp, penetrating blue gaze rested on me with deep consideration.
"You know you're a baffling girl, Leigh. One second you look positively radiant with happiness, and the next all happiness has fled and you have tears in your eyes. I think you're just as intriguing, or confusing, I should say, as your mother. No man is a match for either of you, I'm afraid," he added, not sounding bitter so much as he sounded resigned to his fate.
"Did you have a good time on your
honeymoon?" I asked, sensing a sour note. "Momma went right to bed so I didn't have a chance to ask her anything." His blue eyes narrowed, suspiciously.
"I know I did," he replied, a wry smile on his face. I waited breathlessly for him to say more. "Your mother told me she liked skiing and ice skating. She said she loved winter sports, but when we arrived in St. Moritz, she decided it was too cold to go skiing. Can you imagine?" He laughed. "Too cold to go skiing. Anyway, I spent the days on the slopes and she spent the days shopping or by the fireplace in the hotel.
"I finally got her on the slopes one day, but she complained so much and fell down so much, I let her go back to the hotel. As for ice skating at night on their beautifully lit lake . . ." He waved his hand and shook his head. "That took less than ten minutes to reject.
"She kept complaining about the effect the cold air was having on her skin, and I discovered she hates getting sweaty. So much for a winter sport
honeymoon. Or any sports for that matter," he added with wide eyes.
"But you must have gone to wonderful European restaurants," I said. I knew Momma was looking forward to that.
"Oh, we did, but your mother eats like a bird. It's a waste to order her a full meal, even a children's portion. I ended up eating her meal and my own every night. Lucky I was getting a lot of exercise, huh?" he said sitting back and patting his tummy.
"No, you look . . . you look good," I said. I had almost said "wonderful."
"Thank you. Anyway, that's the story of our winter holiday and honeymoon," he added with disappointment.
The waiter brought us the bread and the salads. It didn't strike me how hungry I was until I began to eat. The cozy restaurant, Tony's casual conversation about Momma and the honeymoon, and the delicious food put me at ease. I relaxed for the first time since I had discovered Troy was so sick.
We talked some more about Europe and I told him about our trips to London. Then I described every little thing I had done while he and Momma were away. I wasn't aware of how much arid how long I was talking because he listened so attentively, his eyes fixed on me.
"Oh, I'm sorry I'm talking so much. I don't know what's come over me."
"That's all right. I'm enjoying it. It's the most you've said to me since . . . since we met."
A little embarrassed, I swung my eyes away to look at some people coming into the restaurant.
"You look very good," he told me. "Like you have been spending time outdoors."
"Thank you." I couldn't help blushing. I hadn't learned how to take compliments as nonchalantly as Momma could. She always expected them, however. For me, they were still something unanticipated and something very special, especially when a man as handsome as Tony Tatterton spoke them. He had a way of sounding so sincere. It made me warm and tingly. Then I felt guilty for feeling so good while little Troy lay so sick in the hospital.
"Shouldn't we get back?" I asked. He was still gazing at me intensely, his eyes so piercing and direct.
"What? Oh, yes. Immediately." He signaled for the waiter.
When we arrived at the hospital, he went straight to Troy's room while I waited in the corridor. Soon, he emerged with the doctor and Tony signaled for me to join them.
"His fever has broken," he announced happily. "And he's having much less difficulty breathing. He is going to be all right."
I was so relieved, I started to cry. He and the doctor looked at each other and laughed, and then Tony embraced me.
"Thank you, Leigh," he whispered, "for caring about him so much." He kissed me on the forehead and I looked up and into his warm blue eyes, my mind reeling in confusion. I had inherited an entirely new family so quickly. It was difficult to sort out my emotions. Whenever I felt good, especially about Tony, I felt I was betraying Daddy, and yet, Tony seemed loving, concerned and caring. He and I had been thrown together by Momma's whim and maybe he, as much as I, was trying to adjust and sort out his feelings. I relaxed in his embrace and lay my head against his shoulder. I can't hate him, I thought. Forgive me, Daddy, but I can't hate him.
"Do you want to look in on him, Leigh?" Tony asked. "He's not awake, but you can stand in the doorway for a few moments."
"Yes. Thank you."
Tony opened the door and I gazed in at little Troy, who looked even smaller than he had looked this morning. The hospital bed, the oxygen and the I.V. tube made him look so tiny, so fragile. My heart cried out for him. I couldn't hold back the tears that had gathered again in the corners of ray eyes. Tony took out his handkerchief and wiped them away.
"He's going to be all right," he said reassuringly and held me again. I nodded. "Let's go home," he said. This time when we passed through Farthy's great gate, Tony's words rang true: "Let's go home."
I was home, for home was not just a building or a house or a place on some street; it was where you had love and warmth awaiting and where people you loved lived. I loved Daddy, but he was on a ship on the ocean and no one lived in our home in Boston now. I loved Momma despite all her lies and selfish ways, and I knew I loved little Troy, and they lived here at Farthy.
I wondered if I would ever come to love Tony Tatterton. The way he held my hand as we walked up the steps to the front door made me think he was more than positive I would.
> Momma had finally woken. Tony and I found her sitting at her vanity table brushing her hair. She had just gotten out of bed and was dressed only in a long, evergreen silk robe, one of the things she had bought in Europe.
"Leigh, I called for you at least an hour ago. Where have you been?" she asked. Tony stopped behind me in the doorway and we exchanged a look of disappointment.
"I've been to the hospital with Tony, Momma, to see about Troy."
"I asked you not to expose yourself to the illness. You can see how it will be bringing up a teenage girl, Tony," she snapped. "They're just like wild horses, stubborn and unpredictable."
"She wasn't exposed, Jillian," Tony said. "She was kept a proper distance away, and I thought it was wonderful of her to want to come."
"You could have called. How could you two leave me here not knowing what was happening . . . where everyone was . . ."
"I did call," Tony protested, "but the servants told me you left word not to be disturbed."
"Well, you of all people should have known how exhausted I was. Anyway, you're here now, so tell me, how is he?" she asked turning back to the mirror to straighten a strand of hair.
"His fever has broken. He's on the mend."
"There, you see," she said pointedly to me. "There wasn't anything we could do once he was in the hospital. Once he's there, it's up to good doctors and nurses and the miracles of medicine," she sang as if this had all been a little bedtime story.
"He's still a very sick little boy," Tony said, "but the crisis has ended."
"Well, thank goodness. Are we having dinner now? I've woken up famished."
Tony and I looked quickly at each other again. Momma caught our glance.