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"How did he die?" I finally asked, my voice so thin it was nearly in a whisper.

"It was a stroke. Apparently, he had had a minor one some time back, but I never knew."

"Drake called me recently and told me he had spoken with him, but he didn't mention he was seriously ill."

"He shut himself up in his room, so that even Rye didn't know what was happening. By the time he realized it, it was already too late. At least I was with him at the end. He babbled a great deal, confusing people. After a while I wasn't sure he knew who I was, but he did mention your name and he made me promise I would look after you and be sure you were all right.

"I . . . I know that he had been going through strange mental torments, and I imagine you witnessed some of it, but he was harmless. He was just someone searching for love and a way to make up for his sins . . . something we all end up doing one way or another."

"I know." I wondered if he could hear in the way I had said that just how much I already did know. "I know who Tony really was to me, Troy. He shouted it out as I was leaving, and my aunt Fanny confirmed it."

"Oh. I see." His voice drifted off. "I'm not making any excuses for him, but he did have a complicated and difficult marriage."

"Yes." I wasn't eager to talk about all that now. "But Troy, I want to come to the funeral. When is it?"

"Day after tomorrow, two o'clock. Everything will be at the family cemetery. From what your maid just told me, I understand you've be

en improving steadily. I'm happy for you, Annie, and I don't want anything to set you back, so if making such a journey is too much of a strain--"

"It won't be, and I won't have a setback. I'm anxious to see you again. I never had a chance to thank you for calling my aunt Fanny and having Luke and her come and get me. It was you who did that, wasn't it?"

"I didn't watit to see you go; I was hoping we would have more opportunities to be together, but I saw what was happening to you here and I knew you really belonged with the people you loved, even though I can imagine how painful it must have been for you to go home. I remember Tony telling me how it was for him when he came to my cottage a long time ago, thinking I was dead and gone."

"It was painful. I wish I had a cottage to hide away from sadness and pain like you do with a maze to keep unwanted people away."

"Tragedy has a way of discovering the right turns and finding you anyway if it is meant to, Annie. I've learned that too well," he said sadly.

"I know." My voice was barely audible, just a shade above a whisper. I was about to say more, perhaps even mention the secret letter in the toy cottage. He must have sensed something, for he spoke quickly to end our conversation.

"I'll see you day after tomorrow, Annie. I'm happy you'll be there with me. Good-bye until then." "Good-bye, Troy."

I cradled the receiver slowly, my thoughts turning to Tony. Despite the madness and the lies, I couldn't help cry for him. Troy had been right: even though Tony was rich beyond imagination, he was lonely and lost, and very much like everyone else, searching for someone to love who would love him back.

Perhaps Rye Whiskey was right about the spirits at Farthy. Maybe they had finally ended Tony's torment by claiming him as one of their own.

Aunt Fanny was upset when I told her I planned to attend Tony's funeral.

"No one know'd he was yer grandpappy, Annie. No one expects ya ta travel all the way ta see 'im buried."

"I know who he was, Aunt Fanny. I can't forget him and hate him. He did try to help me in his own way."

"That place is poison. All them rich people destroy themselves one way or t'other. Not that I don't want ta be rich; it's jist the way those beantown phonies lived, thinkin' they was better'n everyone else. Makes them mad as hatters. I wish ya'd change yer mind 'bout it."

She complained all day, but she saw I was adamant. Shortly after I spoke with Troy and learned of Tony's death, I phoned Luke. I almost didn't speak when he answered the phone. He sounded so sad and alone. My hand trembled at the sound of his voice, but I closed my eyes and spoke up. As soon as he heard my voice, his voice regained its strength and lightness.

"I've been trying to write you a letter for days, Luke, but nothing seems right."

"I know. It's why I haven't spoken to you or written to you myself. But I'm glad you called. I'm trying to keep busy and to keep you out of my thoughts, but it's not easy. I'm so happy to hear your voice, Annie."

"As I am to hear yours, but I'm not calling with happy news," I said, and told him about Tony's death and Troy's phone call. "Your mother is angry about my going and says she won't go back there. She's hoping I won't want to go myself, but I will. I can get around now with my cane, so traveling is easier."

"I'll be there that morning to take you to Farthy," Luke replied quickly.

"Oh, Luke, I knew you would."

"I love you, Annie. I can't help it. I'll live with it and suffer with it until the day I die."

"And so will I, Luke." Neither of us spoke for a moment. My throat closed up so tightly anyway, I wasn't sure I would be able to get any more words out. Finally, after a deep sigh, I looked at the painting of him I had done and regained my strength. "Oh, Luke, I painted a picture of you standing in the gazebo."