"No. I promise," I said even though in my heart I felt a terrible sort of wind had tossed me about and burst whatever bubble of happiness I had found here.
He smiled and broke free, running toward the water.
"Look! Look at the blue shells!" he cried and began to fill his little pail.
I took a deep breath of the fresh sea air. It seemed to clear my lungs and wash out the anxiety and the heaviness I felt in my body. I looked back to be sure Tony wasn't following us. I didn't see him and assumed he must have realized I wouldn't tolerate him near me. Convinced Troy and I would be left alone, I joined him to sift through the shells and fill his pail with the more beautiful ones.
Tony wasn't at the house when Troy and I returned. When Troy asked after him, Curtis reported that Tony had to go to Boston much earlier than he had anticipated. Curtis said he had left a message for me, however--my horse would be ready if I wanted to ride in the afternoon.
I didn't. I spent the day reading and playing games with Troy in his suite. Just before dinner, I took him for a walk through the gardens. We brought along pieces of old bread and fed the birds at the fountains.
Tony did not return for dinner, which made me happy. And then Curtis came in with news of a telegram my mother had sent announcing she would be returning from her European spa late in the day tomorrow.
Oh, thank Heaven, I thought. I would tell her everything, every little detail, so she would
understand what a horror I had gone through and what a horrible man she had married. I was positive that we would be leaving this place in a matter of days. Tony would pay for what he had done to me. When my mother was angry at a man, she could be a most formidable opponent. I made up my mind that no apologies, no promises, no expensive gifts, nothing would get me to forgive him. I half expected he would come begging me for that forgiveness once he discovered how soon my mother was to return.
As darkness fell, I became more and more anxious. Wherever I was in the great house, I kept an ear toward the front entrance, anticipating Ton
y's arrival. As the hours ticked away, the tension built within me, ticking like a grandfather clock and building toward that moment when he would come home and surely look for me. No matter what I tried to do to distract and occupy myself, it didn't work-- not listening to the radio, not watching television, not reading, not talking to Troy--nothing kept my mind from turning back to the events of the night before.
Finally, more out of fear than out of fatigue, I retired to my suite; but the moment I closed the door behind me, I felt trapped and vulnerable. After all, it was here where it had happened, where he had come and where he might come again. Only my mother's bedroom suite had a lock on the door. It was something she had insisted be built in, for she prized her privacy and, I realized now more than ever, her opportunity to be away from her demanding young husband.
An idea came to me. I put on my robe, slipped my feet into my slippers, scooped up Angel, and left my suite. I went directly to my mother's suite, closing and locking the outer door behind me. Not only did I feel safer because of that, but just being in my mother's room, smelling her jasmine scents and seeing her makeup, her clothing and her shoes, gave me a sense of security. I put on one of her nightgowns and dabbed some of her jasmine perfume on my neck. Then I crawled into her bed just the way I used to when I was very little in Boston. Her sheets and pillowcases and her blanket smelled as fresh and clean as she always demanded they be.
"Oh, Momma," I moaned. "I wish you were really here." I set Angel down on the pillow beside me and turned off the lamp on the night table.
The moon was larger tonight, its silvery light brighter and unhampered by passing clouds. A small patch of stars had gathered at the moon's feet and I imagined a kingdom in the sky ruled by a beautiful princess, the moon, who had dozens of handsome suitors always at her beck and call, the stars. Up there, there was always soft, sweet music and there was no cruelty and meanness, no children with parents who despised each other, no men twisted and deceitful and no jealous women and girls looking to harm each other,
"It's the world we should have, Angel," I whispered. "The world we belong in,"
I closed my eyes and tried dreaming of it, dreaming of a world with candy-coated streets, with happy children, bright and handsome as little Troy, laughing and playing safely; a world of warm, cheerful homes filled with loving families, with Daddies who rushed back after work to be with their children and their wives. It was a world without the harsh winds Troy feared so, a world without gray skies where all the girls my age had portrait doll faces and devoted boyfriends.
If I could only drift away, rise slowly toward the moon and be part of that world . . .
I fell asleep, but awoke hours later to the sound and the sight of the lights in the sitting room being turned on. I sat up quickly in my mother's bed. Tony was standing in the doorway, his face and body in shadows. Suddenly, he laughed. I couldn't speak; my heart began to pound.
"Locking me out again," he said and laughed again. Could it be that he thought I was my mother, that he misread the telegram and thought she had returned tonight? He held a key up in the light.
"I never told you I had a copy made for the time when I finally grew tired of your . . . your ridiculous antics: shutting me, your husband, out of your bedroom, keeping me away from you, denying me my conjugal rights. Well, I'm tired of it now, tired of being made the fool. When we first met, I was handsome and desirable enough. Now that we're married and you made me sign that ridiculous marriage contract, you think you can drive me away. Well, I won't have it. Not anymore. I've come for what is rightfully mine and what you should rightfully want as well."
He stepped farther in.
"Tony," I said in a loud whisper. "I'm not Momma. I'm Leigh."
He paused and there was a long moment of silence. Because he had moved from the light into the darkness, I couldn't see his eyes or the expression on his face, but I felt his confusion.
"I'm sleeping in my mother's bedroom tonight. She's not home yet. Now go. You've done enough to make me hate you forever!"
Suddenly he laughed again, this time with a cold, sharp tone,
"So, you want to be your mother," he said. "You want to be just like her. You crawl into her bed, wearing her nightgown and her perfume. You dream of being Jillian, being my wife after all. This is your fantasy."
"NO! That's not why I came in here. I came in here to keep you away from me! Get out!"
"Just like your mother, you refuse to admit to what you really want, what you really need. I understand. It's a family trait," he added and laughed.
"Get out," I pleaded desperately.