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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.
