Gates of Paradise (Casteel 4)

unwillingness even to say hello. I looked toward the house, but no one had followed me out; no one knew I was here.

When I turned back to him, I saw that his lips curved into a smile, and there was something in that smile and in those dark brown eyes that made me feel warm and safe.

"You don't have to tell me who you are," he said, his voice soft, soothing, almost loving. "You are Heaven's daughter. Although, you look more like Leigh with that hair color. Tell me, is it your natural color or did you dye it as your mother once did?"

"Who are you?" I demanded more emphatically now. I saw in his eyes that he was thinking, deciding whether to continue to speak to me or just to rush off. Something he couldn't overcome kept him at my side.

"Me? I'm . . Brothers. Timothy Brothers." "But who arc you? I mean, how do you know my mother and her mother? And how did you know she once dyed her hair?"

"I work for Mr. Tatterton."

I sat back. He certainly didn't look like one of the handymen, and Rye had told me there was no one with this man's description working on the grounds. Of course, Rye could be forgetful, too, I thought, but I didn't think this man did hard labor. There was a softness about him, a gentleness that suggested a contemplative nature.

"Oh? And what do you do for Mr. Tatterton?" "I . . create toys."

"Create toys?"

"Don't look so surprised, Annie. Someone has to do it."

"How did you know my name?" I asked with surprise.

"Oh, by now everyone knows your name. Mr. Tatterton talks so much about you."

I continued to gaze into his eyes. I sensed that there was a lot more mystery to this man than he was willing to reveal.

"And what were you doing here in the hedges, or is that where you create toys?"

He threw his head back and laughed'.

"Hardly, no. I was taking a walk when I saw you coming down the walkway."

"Where do you live? Farthy, too?"

"No. I live on the other side of the maze. That's where I create the toys."

"The other side of the maze? Isn't that where . . . isn't there a cottage there?" I asked quickly.

"Oh, you know about the cottage?" I nodded. "Because your mother told you about it?"

"No. She didn't tell me very much about Farthy; she never liked to talk about it."

He nodded slowly, his face turning sad. He shifted his eyes away, gazing toward the Tatterton family cemetery. There was something in the way he held his shoulders that reminded me of myself whenever I was feeling melancholy. After a moment he took his right hand out of his pocket and brushed back his hair. His fingers looked long, sensitive, strong, the fingers of an artist. They were quite similar to my own. Perhaps certain people were born to be artistic, I thought.

"I'm very sorry about what happened to your parents," he said, almost under his breath. He didn't look at me when he spoke.

"Thank you."

"So?" He looked up quickly. "You know about the maze, too, I take it. I couldn't help but notice how you were looking at it."

"It looks so mysterious."

"Like anything, it is for those who don't know it. Would you like to go through it?"

"Through it? You mean . . to the other side?"

"Why not?" He looked up at the blue sky streaked here and there with strokes of long thin clouds, "it's a nice day for a walk. I'd be glad to wheel you about."

I hesitated to say yes, even though I was most eager to experience the maze and certainly wanted to see the cottage, for despite Mr. Brothers's pleasant and friendly way, he was still a complete stranger. What would everyone say to my going off with him like this? I wondered, On the other hand, he did work for Tony, and Tony was going to be upset that I had left the house, anyway. I might as well add a side trip, especially this side trip.