"Annie," the doctor said, "you are definitely on the way to a complete recovery; however, it is very important, especially now, that you don't rush things and cause a setback."
"Oh, I won't."
"What you must do is follow my orders to the letter, okay?" I nodded. He could have told me to cut all the grass at Farthy with a pair of scissors and I would have agreed. "The reason you collapsed after you stood up is you are still physically exhausted. We want to build your strength for the battle ahead, now that your legs are returning. I am going to adjust your therapy. have given Mr. Tatterton some simple instructions to follow. In any case, I will return the day after tomorrow and examine you again."
"Can't I begin to use the walker in the morning? I want to try to stand and walk as soon as I get up." Dr. Malisoif looked at Tony and then squeezed his chin with his thumb and forefinger as he considered me.
"Annie, I've described the stages of your recuperation to Mr. Tatterton in great detail. Don't do anything without asking his permission first, okay?"
"Yes, but--"
"No buts. Buts create complications," he added, smiling. "Can I depend on you?" I shifted my eyes away, unable to hide the sad expression on my face. "Now, now, you should be happy. You're on your way." He patted my hand and started out. Tony shook his hand and then remained behind. He looked down at me with sad blue eyes.
"After you passed out, I was sure we would have to bring you back to the hospital. Now we have good news, but you don't look happy."
"I'm just anxious to get back to normal, Tony."
"Of course." He stood thoughtfully a moment and then suddenly brightened as something came to mind. "But I have another surprise for you, and now that there is this definite degree of improvement, I'm even more excited about it"
"What have you done?" He did look excited-- his eyes young and soft blue again, his face flushed.
"Since we put in the chair elevator for you to go up and down the stairway, I decided to have a ramp built in front of the main entrance this afternoon. You can wheel yourself to the stairway, go down, and wheel yourself to the front. Then you can wheel down the ramp and go along the sidewalks and paths to enjoy the grounds around Farthy. Of course, the first few times, I will take you, but in time--"
"In time I will walk out on my own, Tony." I was sorry I had said it so quickly and so sharply. He looked dejected, like a little boy who had been turned down, but I couldn't help it. My progress had filled me with such hope, and now Tony and the doctor were telling me it would be a much longer wait than I had anticipated. I was still going to be confined to a wheelchair.
"Of course. I didn't mean to--"
"But I do appreciate what you have done, Tony. I can't wait to go out and around Farthy. Thank you, Tony. Thank you for everything, because I am sure without you I wouldn't be recovering so soon."
His face brightened again.
"I'm glad you feel that way, Annie. Oh," he said, looking over at the easel, "I see you have made progress on your painting. How wonderful." I studied his face as he turned a sharp, penetrating gaze on my work. His smile melted slowly, and with it went all that had made his expression bright and young. Then he looked out the window as if he could see through the darkness. He continued gazing as if he saw through the inky night. I didn't know what to say.
"It's just a drawing right now."
"Yes." When he turned back to me, his blue eyes looked troubled. He folded his brow and curled his lips inward like someone under great mental strain. "It's good, but I was hoping to see you paint the gardens and hedges, the little walkways and small, sparkling fountains."
"But Tony, the fountains aren't running. They're stuffed with autumn leaves. And the gardens need pruning. Whatever flowers there are, are being choked by weeds. Some of the hedges are trim, but even they need more work." He stared ahead, his eyes unblinking. I didn't think he heard a word I said.
"When the sun is out, the grounds glitter." He smiled. "Jillian says it's as if some giant stood on the roof and cast jewels over the lawns. She's an artist, so she has an artist's eye and imagination. She paints only pretty, pleasant things, happy things, things that make her feel young and alive. That's why she started with illustrations for children's books."
"Jillian . you mean, my great-grandmother Jillian? But she's dead. Tony?" He was just staring at me again, that faraway look in his eyes. I felt myself tremble. Was something more happening to him? Were his journeys back to the past becoming more frequent, and to the point where he was having trouble returning to the present?
"What? Oh, I meant, Jillian used to say." He laughed, a short, dry laugh and looked at my easel again. "It's just when I see artwork, art supplies, I think of her and vividly remember those early days. Oh well, after you're up and about, you'll set yourself up down there in the gardens and paint and paint until you wear the brushes down to nothing.
"I'm not surprised you chose a sad scene, closed up in this room the way you are. An artist needs space, to roam, to breathe. Only Troy could lock himself up and create one beautiful thing after another. They were already alive in his mind, I suppose."
"I'd like to see more of Troy's work."
"Oh, you will. When you come downstairs, we'll go to my office and look at all the models on the shelves. He created each and every one, down to the smallest detail."
"Maybe I'll come down tomorrow," I said hopefully.
"Yes. We'll arrange your first outing. Isn't this wonderful--to have you moving through the corridors of Farthinggale Manor once again!"
"Once again?"
He clapped his hands together. Everything he was saying seemed mixed up. Perhaps it was just the excitement of my impending recovery, I thought. I had to keep reminding myself--Tony was no youngster. Having all this thrust upon him after so many years of living in relative solitude had to be mind boggling.