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"Don't you worry about it. You won't have to. I'm going to pack her off tonight. We'll spend a little more time finding a suitable replacement, but I'm sure we will very quickly," he added with confidence.

"Thank you, Tony. I didn't want to make trouble, but--"

"Nonsense. If you're not happy and comfortable with your nurse, you won't improve. And I certainly don't want someone as sadistic as this woman seems to be. Anyway," he said, "put all that behind you now. I'll handle it. Let's turn our attention to other, brighter and more cheerful things." He looked around. "I know just what else is wrong. You're sitting and lying around doting on your illness too much. Look at this room . . it's a duplication of a hospital room . . . wheelchairs, walkers, medicines, special trays and basins . . depressing," he said, shaking his head. "But I've got just the magical medicine for you." His blue eyes twinkled with glee like the eyes of a mischievous little boy.

"Magical medicine! What is it?"

He held his hand up to indicate I should be patient.

Then he went out of the suite. A moment later Parson appeared, carrying a long carton. He put it down by the window and turned to Tony.

"You want it here, Mr. Tatterton?"

"Exactly."

"What is that?"

"You'll see," he said and took my now empty tray off my wheelchair. He put it on the dresser and pulled my wheelchair back to the bed so he could sit beside me on the bed and both of us could watch Parson unpack whatever was in the carton. Moments later I realized what it was--an artist's easel. Parson assembled it quickly and adjusted it so I could paint from a sitting position.

"Oh, Tony, an easel! How wonderful," I cried. "It's the best one money can buy," Tony announced proudly.

"Oh, Tony, thank you, but--"

"No buts. You've got to get back into the swing of things. That's what everyone I've spoken to about you tells me." He nodded to Parson, who left and returned with two more cartons, one filled with artist's supplies and one with paper. Tony set up a sheet on the easel immediately.

"I don't know much about the rest of this stuff. I simply gave orders to my purchasing agent to go out and buy everything a budding young artist requires. There's even a beret in here somewhere." He sifted through the carton until he found it, a black beret, and put it on me. I laughed.

"See? I've already got you smiling and laughing." Then he came over and put the hat on me. "Black is your color, Annie." He turned me toward a mirror so I could see myself. "Feeling inspired already?"

I was. Just the sight of myself in that beret brought back the dreams I had almost forgotten. Art filled my life with an inner joy and meaning nothing else could. I hadn't realized how much I had missed it. The accident and the aftermath had separated me from all the people and things I loved, especially my artwork. Maybe that was another but more significant reason why I had felt like half a person up until now. I was so afraid that all the sadness and the tragedy had made me incapable of calling up the innermost feelings and inspiration that could be transformed into something beautiful. What if I lifted the brush to the canvas and saw only a blank, stark-white field forever and ever?

"I don't know, Tony."

"Well, you'll try, won't you? You'll at least try. Promise?"

I hesitated, looking at him hopefully.

"Well? Do you promise?"

"I'll try, Tony. I promise."

"Well now." He clapped his hands. "I'll just leave you to your work, then. In a day or so I expect to see something magnificent."

"Don't expect too much, Tony. I was never really that good anyway and--"

"You're much too modest. Drake has told me. He even brought back one of your paintings."

"He did!" I exclaimed.

"It's hanging in my office downstairs."

"He didn't tell me he did that. Which painting?"

"The one with the little sparrow on the magnolia tree. I love it. I hope you don't mind his bringing it to me."

"It's not that I mind . . . but he should have told me. He should have asked," I said, gently chastising, even though I felt flattered and happy about Drake's appreciation of my artwork.

"Well, I asked him to bring one and he was just trying to please me. Don't be too hard on him," Tony pleaded.