The Shadow Portrait (38 page)

Oliver stood looking down at this daughter of his. He knew that Cara had a depth of character that he lacked. There was something in her that he had never been able to put his finger on. She was far more complex than his other children, and he had always assumed that it was because she was an invalid and had time to think more. Now that he was confronted with this side of her character, he was almost dumbfounded. “I . . . I wouldn’t know how to start doing a thing like that. I’m not a poet.”

“Father, you don’t have to be a poet to say, ‘Why, Alice, how pretty that dress looks on you.’ ”

“But does it really mean that much?”

“Try it and see,” Cara challenged him. “Just tell her that her hair looks nice. Tell her that you appreciate the way she’s done something, or the way she looks. It may not be much to you, but it would mean a world of difference to Mother.”

“Well—” Oliver Lanier was not accustomed to being instructed, especially by his own family. He felt uncomfortable, yet somehow he knew that what Cara was telling him was the truth. “Well, I’ll say good night.” Turning, he saw the glass of ale on the table and quickly said, “You haven’t drunk your ale yet.”

“No, and I’m not going to.” It was not what Cara intended to say, but somehow the conversation had given her new courage. She looked at her father. “That ale doesn’t help me physically one bit. It’s an idea that you had, and I know you did it for my good. But you may as well take it with you because I’ve drunk the last glass of it!”

“Why, Cara, I’m surprised at you!”

Cara moved closer to her father. She knew that deep down he loved her and the rest of his family, but she was also aware
of the habit of command that had been formed in his youthful years, and now she said, “Father, be a little bit more gentle. It would mean more than you can imagine.” She reached up, pulled his head down, kissed him, then whispered, “Good night, Father.”

“Good night, daughter.”

As Oliver left the room and headed down the hall, he realized that something had happened in his own house and in his own life. He had been proud of his accomplishments, proud of his family—but Cara’s words had pierced him deeply.
Maybe I’ve been wrong. Maybe Cara is right.
He thought of the harsh way he had treated Clinton, but his stubborn pride rose up quickly to blot out those thoughts and any remorse for his actions. “He can come home when he acts like a reasonable man and not until,” he muttered and stepped inside the bedroom door. He saw his wife preparing for bed, and the memory of Cara’s words came back again. Cautiously he moved over to stand beside her. She was brushing her hair, which still had not one gray hair in it. Reaching out, he touched it, stroked it gently, and thought up a speech. “You know, Alice, your hair is as beautiful tonight as it was on our wedding night.”

Alice Lanier dropped the brush. It fell to the carpet as she turned, her eyes wide with astonishment. She could not speak for a moment, and Oliver was shocked to see her eyes fill with tears. “Why there. It’s nothing to cry about because I tell you your hair is pretty.” But she rose and put her arms around him, and he could feel her sobbing. As he held her, he was shocked.
Well, I think Cara was right about some things, anyway. . . .

Easy Devlin marched up and down the waiting room, agitation pinching his face. “What’s taking so long?” he demanded, stopping to stand in front of Peter Winslow. “I could’ve put a whole car together in this much time.”

Looking up, Peter shifted on the uncomfortable straight-backed chairs that lined the wall of the waiting room and said, “I guess it’s a little bit more delicate putting a young girl’s face in shape than installing a new transmission.”

“Why, I don’t see why!” Easy said. “It looks to me like they could have made a whole new Jolie in this time.”

“It’s only been two hours. That’s not long at all.” Actually Peter did not feel this confident. He was tense but tried to keep a relaxed atmosphere for Easy, who had had a bad dream the night before. It seemed he had dreamed of a white horse, and that was supposed to be bad luck. Easy traversed the room twice more, then stopped.

“I sure wish that would have been a bay or a chestnut instead of a white horse I dreamed about.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Easy! Dreams don’t have anything to do with luck!”

“For an educated man you sure are dumb, Peter,” Easy snorted. He would have said more, but at that moment the door opened and Dr. Leibnez stepped into the waiting room. Peter and Easy almost ran to meet him.

“How is she, Doc?” Peter asked.

“Why, she’s fine!” Leibnez said, surprise on his face. He saw the tension of both men and smiled. “After all, it wasn’t a life-threatening operation.”

“Is she going to be all right? I mean, is the scar going to be gone?”

“Well, I hesitate to make predictions, but I think I may say the operation was very successful.” Leibnez seemed to swell with assurance. He liked to help people, and now he said, “It may take one more rather minor surgery to remove the scar completely, but I think you’d have to look close to see it. Of course it’ll have to heal up, and that will take some time.”

“I shore was afraid of this one, because I dreamed of a white horse last night,” Easy said, shaking his head.

A blank look came across Leibnez’s face. “A white horse? What does that have to do with it?”

“Never mind, Doc,” Peter said. “Just tell me one more time. Jolie’s going to look great, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she is. She has a very good complexion and she’s young. I don’t know why this wasn’t done a long time ago, but I’m glad she finally had it done.”

“Well, it’s done now,” Easy grinned. “Can we go in and see her?”

“She won’t be awake for a while, but you can go sit beside her.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Easy said. As the doctor turned and walked out of the room, the two men followed him down the hall. Stepping inside the hospital room, they saw Jolie lying very still. A sheet was pulled over her and her black hair was concealed by some sort of cap. The left side of her face was covered with bandages, and she looked pale.

“She’ll have to come in several times in the next week or two for a checkup, but I’m sure you’ll see to that,” Leibnez said. He looked at her and shook his head, “She’s a very lovely woman, and this will make her complete.”

After thanking the doctor, both men sat down and began the long vigil. Neither of them said anything, but from time to time their eyes met, and once Easy grinned and said, “Well, I’ll have to eat my words about that Warwick woman. This is one good thing she’s done—maybe the first . . . !”

At first all was darkness, a warm darkness to be sure, but somehow it was frightening. From far away she heard the sound of voices, and sometimes she knew that whoever was speaking was someone she knew very well. Finally the voices became clearer, and as she opened her eyes just a slit, she saw nothing but a blank whiteness. But then, opening them wider and turning her head to the right, she saw a face and at once whispered, “Peter—”

“Jolie!” Peter was beside her instantly. Jolie could see the
tension in his face. “Well, it’s about time you woke up,” he said huskily, and he reached out and touched her right cheek.

Memory came back to Jolie then, and she said, “Have I been here long?”

“Not too long. Jolie, the doctor says you’re going to be fine. This other cheek, why, I’ll bet it’ll be as smooth as this one.” His fingers were light on her cheek, and she smiled at his touch. “Easy’s just gone to get some coffee. He’ll be back in a minute. I bet you’re glad it’s over.”

“Yes, I am.” She felt secure lying there with Peter standing over her. He looked so big, and the touch of his fingers on her cheek was reassuring. “I’m so sleepy.”

“That’s all right. We’ll be taking you home soon, but until then you get all the rest you can.”

“Will you be here?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said as he took her hand and sat down beside her.

Reaching up with her free hand, Jolie touched the bandages and said, “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

“Dr. Leibnez said there would be some pain when the medicine wore off, but they’ll give you something for that. You just rest easy. You’re going to be fine.”

Jolie lay there quietly, contented, and tried to think what it would be like to be without a scar. For most of her life she had tried to hide it, and she could not imagine being able to turn her face fully toward someone without thinking about how ugly she looked. Now she looked over at Peter, who smiled, and she whispered, “I’d like to be pretty, so that you would like me.”

“Pretty doesn’t have anything to do with it,” Peter said quickly. He squeezed her hand and leaned forward so that his face was close to hers. “I’d care for you no matter what you looked like, Jolie. You know that.”

The words pleased Jolie. She was getting drowsier, but the world looked different, and she felt warm and comforted. Soon she dropped off to sleep again.

“Well, here she is, Avis,” Peter said proudly. He had walked into the drawing room where Avis was sitting reading a magazine. He had brought Jolie home from the hospital, and now she stood beside him somewhat unsteadily. “The doctor says she’s going to have the smoothest skin over that scar you could ever imagine.”

Jolie went forward and stopped before Avis. “I can’t thank you enough for making this possible. You don’t know what it means to me.”

“You two can get your talking done,” Peter said. “I’ll go make some tea.”

As soon as he was gone, Jolie said, “Why did you do this for me, Avis? I know you’re in love with Peter.”

“Well, as much as I’m capable of loving anyone,” Avis said.

She tried to make a joke of it, but something had happened to Avis, and Jolie could see it clearly. She pulled a chair up and said, “What’s wrong? You look different.”

“I guess while you were gone I came to myself. Something I had to learn to handle.” She was wearing an off-white dress, and her hair was not fixed as neatly as Jolie might have done it. There was a worried expression on her face, too. Sighing heavily, she shook her head and said, “Somehow, Jolie, in the back of my mind I’ve always thought I’d walk again, but I’ve had to face up to it. I’ll never get out of this chair.”

Jolie hesitated only for an instant, then she said, “I know you don’t believe in dreams and things like that, but all the time I was in the hospital, I didn’t have anything to do but wait. I couldn’t do anything, so I began to pray for you, and I want to tell you something. You’re going to get out of that chair and walk again, Avis!”

Jolie’s statement brought Avis’s eyes open wide, and then she laughed shortly. “Well, that’s pie in the sky—it can never happen.”

“It can if you believe.”

“How can I believe? I’m not even a Christian.”

“Not everyone who got healed in the Bible was saved. Why, the man that was born blind in the book of John, Jesus healed him, and when they asked him about Jesus, he said, ‘I don’t even know who he is.’ But later on Jesus came to him and identified himself. Then the man believed. But it was after he was healed. God loves us. He wants to do good things for us. Sometimes it doesn’t happen, Avis, like we want it to, but I believe that God’s given me a promise, and I want you to believe with me.”