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I stared in awe, in disbelief, the reality of my parents' death never as vivid as it was at this moment, but my body did not soften and wither like some fragile flower. I
was as hard and as cold as the very stone I faced.
The reverend walked up to the monument, he opened his Bible and began the service. When his words reached my ears, my brain channeled them off to some archive in the library of my memory. I saw his mouth moving and I saw him turn the pages, but I didn't hear a word.
Instead I heard the words I knew Mommy would utter if she could be beside me now.
"Annie," she would say, "you must get strong again. You can get strong again. You must not become some weak and dependent creature withering away in the shadows of Farthy. If you do, you will pale and die like some flower kept out of the sunlight."
"My Annie," Daddy would continue, "I wish we could be there beside you to give you the love and support we have given you all your life, but we can't. I know that you have it in you to stand on your own two feet once more, and once more carry on the work your mother and I began in Winnerrow."
"We're with you, Annie; we're part of you." "Mommy," I whispered.
But I couldn't deny the reality of what all this meant. It meant the end of the world as I had known it. I had come here to say good-bye to Mommy and Daddy, but I was saying good-bye to myself as a little girl, too. Good-bye to the tinkle of music boxes and the laughter of a family together, close, eager to see each other every day. Good-bye to hugs and kisses and words of encouragement. Good-bye to Mommy's comforting embrace whenever the world seemed hard or cruel or cold. Good-bye to Daddy's laughter ringing through the house and chasing away the worries that sometimes come into our lives.
Good-bye to Sunday dinners when we were all talking around the table. Good-bye to all the holidays, the gathering around the Christmas tree to open presents, the delicious Christmas dinner. Good-bye to Thanksgiving dinners with relatives and guests contentedly stuffed. Good-bye to singing around the piano and playing charades. Good-bye to looking for Easter eggs and munching on chocolate rabbits. Good-bye to Sunday walks and vacations on the seashore.
Good-bye to staying up New Year's Eve just to kiss Mommy and Daddy and wish each other a happy new year. Good-bye to all the reasons for all the holidays. Good-bye to all the presents and pretty gift wraps and ribbons and surprises. Good-bye to everything that made life delightful and exciting and warm.
I shook my head in disbelief. I was like a ghost of myself, empty, bereft of feeling, floating aimlessly. Even the reverend's final words seemed hollow, lost in the wind.
"Please join me in the psalm. "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want . ."
I buried my face in my hands and felt Drake's hand on my shoulder. As soon as the psalm was completed and the reverend had closed his Bible, Drake turned my chair toward the limo. I fell back and closed my eyes.
"Let's get her upstairs and into her bed quickly,"
Tony muttered. The chair was pushed faster. Miles opened the door and he and Drake lifted me into the backseat. I was as limp as a wet tissue. I felt Tony slip in on the other side of me, and I felt the limo turned about.
I opened my eyes, intending to look back at the monument one more time as we left the cemetery, but something in the nearby forest caught my eye instead. It was a quick movement, a shadowy figure coming to life, stepping through the sunlight as it rushed back into the protective darkness of the woods.
It was he, the tall, lean figure I had seen from my window!
Like a guest everyone had forgotten to invite, he had appeared in the background to share the ceremony of mourning, quietly, unnoticed, and then he had disappeared so quickly. Indeed, no one but I seemed to have noticed.
I took a sedative and rested. I awoke late in the afternoon. The great house was so quiet, and the sedative had put me into so deep a sleep, it took me a few moments to realize where I was and what had happened. At first it all seemed like some dream, some long nightmare; but the sight of my waiting wheelchair and the medicines, towels, and lotions lined up on the long vanity table were evidence that this was, unfortunately, no dream.
When I gazed out the windows, I saw that the cottony clouds had flattened into a dark gray blanket, making the afternoon dismal and dark, a fitting aftermath to the morning's ceremony. I pulled myself up into a sitting position and poured myself some water from the blue plastic jug on the night table beside the bed. The stillness around me was puzzling. Where was Mrs. Broadfield? Tony? Had Drake gone back to Boston?
I rang the little bell hung from one of the posts and waited. No one came. I rang again, this time a little longer and louder. Still no one came. Had they expected me to sleep longer? Most likely, I thought, but now I was hungry. I had slept through lunch and it was closing in on dinnertime.
"Mrs. Broadfield?" I called.
Strange that she wasn't just outside my door. She always came running on a moment's notice. The continued silence frustrated me. Confined to a bed, always dependent upon others . . . it made me angry. Driven by this frustration and anger, I leaned over and stretched out until I could grasp the arm of my wheelchair. I would show them all. Why was the chair left so far from my bed, anyway? I wondered. It was almost as if Mrs. Broadfield wanted me trapped.
I pulled the chair close to the bed and
unfastened the right arm. I had never done this before, but I felt sure I could do it now. Sliding myself to the side of the bed, I had to pull my legs along like two long leaden weights.
I locked the chair wheels so it wouldn't move, took a deep breath, and pulled myself of the bed.
First I was on my left side on the chair; then I turned my body so I was on my back. After that I pushed down on the arms of the chair, lifting my uncooperative lower body slowly until I was in the sitting Buoyed by this success, I realized I could lift my legs by grabbing under my thighs. My feet dangled stupidly below. I swung them onto the footrests and finally sat back, exhausted. But I had done it! I was not as helpless as they would all make me think! I closed my eyes and waited for my thumping heart to calm.
Once again! listened for sounds from without, but heard only a deep silence. I inhaled deeply and released the wheels so I could move myself forward to the doorway. Once there, I paused and looked about the sitting room. There was no sign of Mrs. Broadfield, no open magazines or books, nothing.
I wheeled myself through the sitting room to the corridor. The air was cooler out there; the lights were still dim and the shadows long and dark. I started to turn left to head for the stairway, where I expected I would stop and call down, but I was tempted to explore on my own, to employ my newly realized mobility for adventure. Where was Tony's bedroom? I wondered. Wasn't it down this way? Maybe he was in it. Perhaps the morning's activities had tired him out as well. Using that as an excuse to quiet my frightened heart, I wheeled myself on. Every once in a while I paused to listen, but heard nothing.
I continued on until I reached an opened double doorway. I could see that the design of this suite was much like the one I was in. A single lamp was illuminated, but when I pushed ahead and entered, I saw no one.
