The little boy had to be Tony's brother Troy. A slight boy with a mop of dark hair, huge eyes that didn't seem happy.
Tired now, drained emotionally, I wanted to escape all the knowledge that was coming at me so fast. My mother had not trusted or liked her stepfather! How could I confide in him now? Yet I had to stay and get that college degree that meant my whole future.
At the windows, I stood looking down at the circular drive that snaked about to become one long, winding road to the outside. I watched Jillian and Tony, wearing evening clothes, step into a beautiful new car that he drove. No limousine this time . . . because they didn't want a chauffeur waiting for them?
Alone, so alone I felt when their car was out of sight.
What to do with myself until seven? I was hungry right now. Why hadn't I told Percy that? What was wrong with me that I felt so shy and vulnerable, when I had determined to be strong? It was being shut up too long, in the plane, in the car, here, I told myself. And I went downstairs and pulled my blue coat from a closet that held half a dozen furs belonging to Jillian. Then I headed for the front door.
Three Beyond the Maze
. FAST AND FURIOUS I WALKED, NOT KNOWING WHERE I was going, only that I was breathing deeply the "briny scent of the sea," as Tony had put it. Several times I skipped backward so I could admire Farthy as seen on the-ground from the outside. So many windows to clean! Such high and wide windows. And all that marble, how did they keep it clean? As I backed away, slowing my walk, I tried to see which windows were mine. Suddenly I collided with something, and quickly turning I confronted not a wall, but a hedge that was almost a wall it grew so tall, and went on and on. Fascinated by what I thought it might be, I followed it until I discovered, yes! An English maze. And with a certain childish delight I entered the maze, not for one moment thinking it could confound me. I'd find the way out. I'd always been good at puzzles. Why, in intelligence tests Tom and I had always known how to send our mice to the cheese, or our pirates to the treasure.
It was pretty in here, with the hedges growing as tall as ten feet, and making precise, right-angle turns, and it was so quiet! All the small chirpings of the garden birds sounded distant and faded. Even the plaintive shrieks of the sea gulls flying overhead were muffled, faraway. The house that had seemed so close was lost when I turned to check--where was it? The tall hedges shut off the warmth of the failing sun. Soon it was more than just briskly chill. My footsteps quickened. Perhaps I should have told Percy I was going outside. I glanced at my watch. Almost sixthirty, in half an hour someone would be bringing up my supper. Was I going to miss my first meal in my very own sitting room? And no doubt someone would light those logs already laid on kindling. It would be nice to sit before my very own fire, curled up in a fancy chair, nibbling on delicacies I'd probably never eat anywhere but here. I made another turn, and shortly met another dead end. I turned again. This time I'd take the right turn. But now that I'd turned in circles several times, I'd lost directions and couldn't tell paths I'd already used. That's when I pulled a tissue from my coat pocket, tore off a strip, and tied it to a hedge branch. There, we'd see how soon I was out now.
The sun in its descent to the horizon blazed the sky with vibrant colors, warning me that soon night would fall with a deeper blanket of cold. But what was this civilized Boston area compared to the wildness of the Willies? Only too soon I found out that a coat purchased in Atlanta was not meant for those living north of Boston!
Oh, come now, this was silly! I was wearing the best coat I'd ever owned, bought for me by Cal Dennison.
It had a small, blue velvet collar that only a month ago I'd considered elegant.
Me, who used to roam the hills when I was two and three and was never lost, confounded by a silly maze, meant for fun! I shouldn't panic. There had to be something I was doing wrong. For the third time I arrived at the pink strip of tissue blowing in the wi
nd. I tried to concentrate . . . I pictured the maze, the place where I'd entered, but all the pathways between the high hedges looked alike, and I was almost afraid to leave the comfort of my torn tissue that at least told me where I'd been three times. As I stood there indecisively, straining my ears to hear the surf pounding on the shore, I heard not the ocean waves crashing on the rocks, but a steady tap-tap-tap. Somebody hammering. Humanity nearby. I let my ears guide me forward.
Night settled quickly, heavily, and mists of fog curled on the ground where cold air met the warmer earth and there was no wind that low to sweep it up and out. On and on I followed the sound of the hammering. Then, alarmingly, I heard a window close, bang! No more tapping! The silence stunned me with its frightening implications. I could wander around out here all night, and no one would know. Who would think to check in the garden maze? Oh, why had I walked backward? My mountain habit seemed stupid now.
Crossing my arms over my chest in Granny's way, I made the next right turn, then the next right turn, never making another left turn until abruptly I was out! Not back where I'd begun, true enough, for I didn't recognize anything, but somewhere better than inside the puzzle. It was too dark and foggy to see the house. Besides, before me lay a path of pale flagstones that faintly shimmered in the dark. I smelled the tall pines made faint by fog and dark, and then I saw a small stone cottage with a red slate roof crouched low and surrounded by a stand of pines. It so surprised me a small cry escaped my lips.
Oh, the fun of being rich! Of having money to waste! Such a cottage belonged in a Mother Goose book, not here. A knee-high picket fence that wouldn't keep anything out wound its crooked way around the cottage, giving support to climbing roses that I could only barely see. In daylight all this would have been charming to discover, but at night my suspicions took wing, and I was frightened. I stood still and took stock of my situation. I could turn around and go back. I glanced over my shoulder to see that the fog had closed in, and I couldn't even see the maze!
From the acrid scent of wood burning, smoke must be snaking upward. A gardener's cottage, that's what! An elderly man was inside with his wife, ready to sit down to a simple meal that would no doubt please my appetite more than gourmet dishes prepared in a kitchen Tony hadn't bothered to show me.
The light from the windows didn't stream outside and fall on the path to brighten my way. It was smothered light, anxious to disappear. I headed for those squares of windows before they, too, vanished in the fog.
At the cottage door I hesitated before I rapped.
Three or four times I banged on the solid door that hurt my hands to rap on, and still no one answered! Someone was in there! I knew someone was there. Impatient because whoever it was was ignoring me, and confident now that I was more or less an important member of the Tatterton family, I turned the latch and stepped inside a dim, firelit room.
It was very warm in the cottage. I stayed with my back toward the door and stared at the young man who sat with his back toward me. I could tell from the slender length of his legs, sheathed in tight black trousers, that he was tall. His shoulders were broad, his dark brown, unruly hair held hints of copper where it caught the glow from the fire. I stared at that hair, thinking it was the color of hair I'd always presumed Keith's would be when he was a man. Thick, wavy hair that reached the nape of his neck and curled upward, barely brushing the white collar of his thin blouse that resembled an artist's or poet's smock, with very full sleeves.
He turned a bit, as if my prolonged stare made him aware of my presence. Now I could see his profile. I sucked in my breath. It wasn't just that he was good looking. Pa Was handsome in his strong, bestial, and brutal way, and Logan was classically handsome in his own stubborn way; this man was good looking in a different kind of way, a special way I'd not seen before, and behind my eyes an image of Logan rose to fill me with guilt. But Logan had run from me. He had left me alone in the cemetery, standing in the rain, not willing to understand that sometimes a girl of fifteen or sixteen didn't know how to handle a man who had befriended her. Except by giving in, so he'd continue to be her friend.
But Logan was yesterday, and for all I knew I might never see him again. So I stared at this man, more than puzzled by the unexpected way my body responded just to the sight of him. Even without looking my way, he appealed to me immediately . . as if he sent out his need to me . . . that it was telling me it would be my need too! It also warned me to tread slowly, to be careful, and keep my distance. I didn't need or want a love affair at this stage of my life. I'd had enough of men forcing sex on me when I wasn't ready for it. Yet I stood there trembling, wondering what I'd do when he turned full-faced, when just his profile excited me so much. Cynically I told myself that he'd be flawed when I saw all of him, and maybe that's why he was taking such pains to keep most of his face hidden in shadows. On and on he sat, halfturned away. Even so, he radiated sensitivity, like an ideal romantic poet should--or did he seem more a wild antelope, posed and still, listening, alert, ready to flee if I moved too suddenly or too aggressively.
That was it, I decided. He was afraid of me! He didn't want me here. A man like Tony would never have sat on and on. Tony would rise, smile, take over the situation. This had to be a servant, a gardener, a handyman.
From his very posture, the way he tilted his head a bit to the side, I knew he was waiting, perhaps even seeing me with peripheral vision. One of his dark, thick eyebrows quirked upward quizzically, and still he didn't move. Well, just let him sit there and wonder, for it gave me a marvelous chance to study him.
Again he turned a little, his hammer posed to strike another blow, and now I saw more of his face, and the fact that his nostrils were quivering, flaring wider, even as I sensed he was breathing just as hard and fast as I was. Why didn't he speak? What was wrong with him? Was he blind, deaf, what?
His lips began to curve upward into a smile as he brought down that tiny hammer and delicately pounded on a thin sheet of bright, silver metal--as if to remove from its shining surface small indentations. Tap-tap-tap went his tiny hammer.
I began to tremble, feeling threatened by his unwillingness even to say hello. Who was he to ignore me? What would Jillian do in my situation? Certainly she wouldn't let this man intimidate her! But I was just a hillbilly scumbag Casteel, and as yet I hadn't learned how to be arrogant. I managed a slight artificial cough. Even then he was in no hurry to turn around and make me feel welcome. I thought as I stood there that he was the most unusual looking and acting young man I'd ever seen.
"Excuse me," I said in a low voice that tried to emulate Milan's whispery way. "I heard you hammering when I was lost in the maze. I'm not sure I can find the right path back to the main house, it's so dark and foggy outside."
"I know you are not Jillian," he said without looking at me, "or you would be chattering on and on, telling me a thousand things I don't need to know. And since you aren't Jillian, you don't belong here. I'm sorry, but I am busy, and have no time to entertain uninvited guests."