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Trying to take my mind off my silly uneasiness I looked at the dozens of enormous ancestral portraits we were passing, as well as pictures of beautiful horses, pictures of the ocean, pictures, pictures, pictures, and great drapes spread over the marble walls, too. Against the walls were white and black marble tables and ornamental stone benches, obviously far too uncomfortable and cold to sit upon. Ahead of us was a long, circular staircase twice, no, three times as long and as wide as ours. Above us was a tremendous chandelier with so many bulbs in it, I imagined it was as bright as the sun whenever it was turned on. The floors of the entryway were covered with enormous Persian rugs that looked so clean and new, it seemed sinful to walk over them.
"Come along," Momma urged, and I followed beside her as we walked past an enormous living room. I caught a glimpse of a grand piano. We stopped at the doorway of the music room and I gazed up at the domed ceiling arching overhead. There was a tall ladder with scaffolding hanging just at the point where the paintings still had to be completed.
So far, Momma had painted a bright blue sky with terns and doves flying. At the center was a man riding a magic carpet and just ahead of him was the drawing of a mystical air castle, half hidden by clouds. That had yet to be painted.
I looked at the murals on the walls and recognized some of the scenes because they were pictures she had done to illustrate various children's books. The far wall consisted entirely of a shadowed woods with sunlight drizzling through and winding paths leading into misty mountain ranges topped with castles.
"What do you think?" she asked softly.
"Oh Momma, it's beautiful, just beautiful. I love it!"
I had been so entranced by the murals and paintings on the ceiling, I hadn't noticed the man sitting on the small sofa with an elaborately decorated frame. The sofa was facing the doorway, so that he had been looking at the two of us while I had been turning in slow circles, my breath caught, my eyes wide, gaping in awe.
"Oh," I said retreating a step closer to Momma. I couldn't help blushing with embarrassment.
The handsome young man with the brightest blue eyes I had ever seen laughed. He was dressed in a burgundy velvet smoking jacket and dark slacks and had thick, rich dark brown hair. His lips were full and even I could see they were more than a little sensual, and his face was as tanned as a movie star's. I thought he had an air of elegance and celebrity about him.
When he stood up, I saw that he was stronglooking with wide shoulders. He was tall, maybe an inch or so taller than Daddy, and had long, gracefullooking hands. There was power emanating from him and a confidence and certainty he seemed too young to possess.
"Forgive me," he said, "but I had to look at the two of you freely for a moment. There is no question this is your daughter, Jillian. She has inherited your joie de vivre and her eyes sparkle with your exuberance." I looked at Momma to see how she reacted to such lavish compliments. Oh, she seemed to blossom under them, like a flower in a warm summer rain. "Welcome to Farthy."
"This is Mr. Tatterton, Leigh," Momma said, not taking her eyes from him.
Mr. Tatterton? I was astonished. From the way Momma had spoken about him, I just assumed he was a much older, gray-haired man. I thought all millionaires somehow looked like the men in our history texts: the Rockefellers and Carnegies, and oil barons--stuffy old men who cared only about Wall Street or cartels and monopolies.
I looked at Momma and saw from the brightness in her face that she was amused with my reaction and she liked Tony Tatterton very much.
"Hello, Mr. Tatterton," I said.
"Oh, please, please, call me Tony. So, how do you like your mother's work?" he asked gesturing toward the ceiling and then toward the walls.
"It's wonderful. I love it!"
"Yes." He turned back to me and gazed at me with a sharp, penetrating look that made my heart pound and brought a warmth to my neck. I hoped I hadn't broken out in blotches. Ever since I was a little girl, the slightest bit of excitement could make me do that.
"I love it too," Tony said, "and I am forever indebted to Mrs. Deveroe for bringing your mother around. Well," he said, clasping his hands together. "First things first. I'm sure you want a tour of Farthy."
"Me, too," I heard a small voice cry and turned to my left to see a small-boy with dark, inquisitive eyes as big as half dollars staring up at me from the corner of the couch. He had obviously been hiding behind it. He had the very same dark brown hair that Tony Tatterton had and he wore it long, but cut neatly around, making him look like a little prince. He was dressed in a dark blue sailor suit.
"Come over here, Troy," Tony Tatterton urged, "and let me introduce you properly. Come on."
The little boy hesitated and continued to stare up at me. "Hi," I said. "My name's Leigh. Want to shake hands?" He nodded quickly and stood up to rush over.
"Well, we can see that Troy has already developed good taste at the age of four. Troy is my little brother," Tony explained as I took Troy's little hand into mine. Troy looked up at me anxiously. "I suppose you might say I'm more like a father than a brother to him since both our parents are gone," Tony added.
"Oh." I looked down at this cute little boy and felt sorry for him. He looked as fragile and as tiny as a small bird that had fallen from its test and lost the warmth and care of its a other. There was a longing in his eyes, a cry for someone warm and loving.
"Troy, meet Jillian's daughter Leigh. Leigh, this is Troy Langdon Tatterton," Tony said and smiled widely, for Troy had not let go of my hand. I knelt down to look into his face.
"You want to go on the tour, too?" I asked and he nodded quickly and reached out for me to take him into my arms. I hugged him to me and lifted him. I looked up and caught Tony Tatterton staring at me with his intense blue eyes. His eyes held mine for a moment, making me very uncomfortable, then he laughed.
"A lady-killer. I knew it," Tony said. "You must be someone very special though, Leigh. He's usually rather shy around people he first meets."
I blushed and looked away quickly. If anything, I was the shy one, I thought. But little Troy looked so delicate, I didn't want to do anything to hurt his feelings.
"Oh he won't be shy around me. Will you, Troy?" He shook his head.
"Great," Tony said. "Let's tour the house and then go outside to see the pool and the horses. After lunch, we'll all take a walk to the beach. But Leigh can't carry you everywhere, Troy. You're too big and heavy now."
