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"All right, Tony. I won't." He smiled and started to leave the room. "Tony," I called.

"Yes?"

"If Luke doesn't call by seven o'clock, I want you to have me taken to a phone to call him. I can't understand his failure to come or to respond to our letters and calls. Something must be wrong."

"If something is wrong, Annie, you should be shielded from it awhile longer. I'll tell you what--I'll call him myself if he doesn't call."

"But you just said you won't tell me if something is wrong."

"I'll tell you. I promise."

"Tony, I want a phone installed here. I can't stand the isolation. Please ask the doctor to put permit it."

Tony seemed pained by my use of the word "isolation," but I couldn't help it. That was how I felt. He grimaced.

"It's not that you're not doing everything you can for me, Tony. And I do appreciate it, really I do, but I miss my friends and the life I had before. I'm a young woman who was about to start the most exciting part of her life. I can't help being lonely, even though you and Drake have paid as much attention to me as you can. Please, speak to the doctor," I begged.

His face softened. "Certainly. I'm sure he'll agree. You're on your way toward a full recuperation. I'm positive. Paint, eat well, rest, and you'll be on your feet sooner than you think."

"Come right up after you call Luke." He nodded and left.

I sat there quietly for a moment, thinking about all that had happened. Perhaps Tony was right . . I shouldn't dote on my illness and these sad thoughts any longer. He had promised to get rid of Mrs. Broadfield immediately. But even with a thoughtful, compassionate nurse, I would still feel entrapped.

Tony could surround me with the most expensive equipment and bring me one thing after another: televisions, stereos, whatever, and I still wouldn't be content. I missed my own room, the scent of my linens and pillow, the fluffy feel of my feathered quilts. I missed my own dresses and shoes and combs.

I missed giggling on the phone with girlfriends, listening to music alone or with friends at the luncheonette. I missed parties and dancing and laughing with people my age. I missed the simplest things and the most complicated things. I missed seeing flowers blossom in our front yard or watching Mommy crochet quietly in the living room. I missed Daddy reading the newspaper, turning those big pages thoughtfully, and occasionally looking over them to wink at me.

Most of all "missed Luke. I missed the sight of him coming down the street or watching him without his being aware as he sat outside on the gazebo waiting for me. I missed our nightly talks on the phone.

Once upon a time, hardly a day passed that we didn't see each other or speak to each other, and now he seemed thousands of miles away, a lifetime away, distracted by his own private world, perhaps. It tore my heart to shreds just thinking about it. But Tony was right. I shouldn't dote on my condition. The only way to be with Luke was to get hold of myself and make myself well again.

I should begin to return to my former self as much as possible, and one way to start that return was to paint again. I wheeled myself to the easel and looked into the carton of supplies. Slowly, I unpacked the things I would need to begin.

But what would I paint? 1 wondered. As if in answer, the window drew me to it and I gazed out toward the Tatterton family cemetery. I took out the pencil and began to sketch, working as if one of Rye Whiskey's spirits had taken hold of my arm and guided my fingers across the blank white sheet. And as I drew, the tears began to come.

Just like any other time when I started a painting, I soon lost myself in my work. It was truly as though I had shrunk and become a tiny figure in the sketch, moving over the scene, di

recting my larger self to draw this and fix that. The world around me faded away; I lost track of time and even place. I didn't even hear Tony return, and I had no idea how long he was standing just behind me, watching me work. I jumped when I realized he was there.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you, but I didn't want to disturb you and ruin your mood. I know how you artists need your concentration. Jillian's just like that. I mean, she was just like that whenever she drew or painted something. I could be standing there for hours and hours and she wouldn't take the slightest note of it. It always amazed me--fascinated me, I should say--and I find you just as fascinating when you work, Annie," he added. He said it so intensely, I couldn't help but blush.

He smiled and then remembered why he had come. "Oh. I wondered if you were going to need your sleeping pill. Before she left in a huff, Mrs. Broadfield left some instructions. If she hadn't, I would have reported her and she would have never gotten another job."

"No, I think fall asleep without any help tonight,

Tony. Thank you."

"Fine. I'll just let you work awhile longer and then stop by to see if you need any assistance getting yourself to bed." He flashed a smile and started to leave.

"Oh, Tony," I called. He turned back. "What happened when you phoned Luke?"

"Oh, I haven't gotten to that yet, Annie. I dealt with Mrs. Broadfield first. I'm sure you understand. try to reach him right now," he said, and left. I went back to my work.

Hours later I fell back in my chair, mentally exhausted. I had really been like one in a daze, because when I looked at my work now, it was as though someone else had done it and left it there before me.

I had drawn a window frame to serve as the frame for the picture. The monument loomed large at the center of the picture, the other tombstones barely sketched in around it. There was a figure kneeling before the large stone. It wasn't Tony and it wasn't me; it was the dark, mysterious man I had seen before. His face was blank; but he was tall and lean.

I looked at my palette and thought about the colors I would use. It seemed to me the painting should be all grays and blacks; they fit the mood. I decided to put off painting the morning, when I might be in a lighter and happier mood. When I turned from the window, I saw the charm bracelet Luke had given me. Mrs. Broadfield had taken it off quickly when she stripped me down after my stomach problems. Now it lay on the night table by the bed. It was well after eight PM, so Tony would have called him by now. Why hadn't he come up to report on the call as he had promised he would? Did this mean Luke was still unreachable or had made some other excuses for not coming to visit me?