"When would you want the hairdresser?"

"Tony, I didn't say I wanted to have it done. I don't know."

"You see how beautiful your grandmother was in light hair, and your mother as well. What do you think?" His eyes burned with excitement.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"All this therapy and medicine and solitude can be very boring." He looked about. "Oh, let me do it," he pleaded. "Let me hire the hairdresser. You should feel pretty, like a beautiful young woman again and not like an invalid."

I smiled at his exuberance. It would be nice to feel pretty again. I looked down at the photographs. I imagined that having my mother's hair color when she was about my age would make me feel close to her again. She looked so happy there on the beach.

And my grandmother Leigh . . there was something wildly beautiful about her. The light hair suited her complexion, but would it suit mine?

"Well? What do you think?" he pursued, hovering over me like someone on pins and needles.

"Oh, Tony, I really don't know. I've never thought about dying my hair another color. It could turn out horrible."

"If it doesn't suit you, I'll bring the hairdresser right back to restore your hair to what it is now."

"Maybe after the service, Tony. I don't want to dote on myself right now. Thank you." I handed the photographs back. He was disappointed but nodded with understanding.

"What about this dress?"

"Drake should be bringing me something appropriate. I included a black dress of my own on the list." "Won't you at least try it on?"

I saw how much it meant to him and began to wonder myself how I might look in it.

"I will."

"I'll send Mrs. Broadfield right in to help you. After you have it on, call me," he added, rushing out before I could say another word. I hadn't meant I would try it on right this moment, but he looked as excited as a child on Christmas morning. I couldn't see denying him. A moment later Mrs. Broadfield appeared. She didn't look happy about it.

"It's not necessary to do this right now, Mrs. Broadfield, if you're busy with something."

"If I were, I wouldn't be here." She took the dress of the bed and looked at it a moment. Then she shrugged to herself and came around to help me sit up and slip off my nightgown. After she and I got the dress on me, she helped me into the wheelchair so I could see myself in the largest wall mirror.

Because I was seated, it was difficult to appreciate what I looked like in this dress, but I did think it made me look older. I hadn't taken much care with my hair since the accident, and now that I put on something other than a nightgown, it made me more aware of how terrible I looked. My hair looked dirty, stringy, greasy. The black dress brought out the paleness in my face and the fatigue in my eyes. I nearly burst into tears seeing myself.

Mrs. Broadfield stood to the side, her arms folded, watching me like some bored saleswoman in a clothing store. Helping me on with a dress was obviously not part of what she considered to be her nursing duties. I didn't hear Tony reenter. He stood just inside the doorway, staring. After a moment I felt his eyes on me and turned toward him. His face was enraptured, twisted in that strange smile I had been seeing more and more of lately. Mrs. Broadfield said nothing. She simply left the room.

"Oh, Tony, I look so terrible. I didn't realize. My hair is disgusting. No one said anything, not Drake, not you, none of the servants."

"You're beautiful. You have a beauty that can't fade with time or illness. It's immortal. I knew that dress was right for you; I knew it. You'll wear it, won't you?"

"I don't know, Tony. I won't like myself in anything, so maybe it won't matter."

"Of course it will matter. I'm sure that your mother will be smiling down and thinking how beautiful her daughter has become."

"But my hair," I repeated, holding up a straggly clump and then dropping it with disgust.

"I told you . . . let me send for a hairdresser right away. Look how horrible you feel because of your appearance. I'm not a physician, but I know if we don't feel good about ourselves, we don't improve. In fact, we can get sicker and sicker."

How persistent he was, and yet what he was saying made sense. Was I wrong to think of my own looks at a time like this? Then Tony said something that convinced me.

"Luke hasn't seen you since you were in the hospital. I'm sure he expects you to look somewhat improved."

Luke, I thought, surrounded now by pretty coeds, healthy, happy girls who can walk and laugh and do fun things with him. Maybe he had delayed coming to visit me because he couldn't stand to see me the way I was. I would surprise him; I would look stronger, better, and I would be better.

"All right, Tony, send for the hairdresser, but I'm not saying permit him to dye my hair yet. I think I just want it washed and styled right now."

"Whatever you think." He stepped back. "How well that dress fits you. You will wear it, won't you? You should," he said, nodding, his eyes intense, "being it was your mother's."

Once again-he said magic words.

"I'll wear it, Tony."

"Good. Well now, I've got things to do. That hairdresser will be here if I have to fetch him myself." He stepped closer to me. "Thank you, Annie, for giving me a chance after the things I told you. You're truly a sweet and wonderful person." He kissed me softly on the cheek. "Be back soon," he said and rushed out.

For a long moment I simply sat there staring at myself in the wall mirror. Back in Winnerrow Mommy had a few different black dresses, one very similar to this one, I thought. Maybe that was why, as I gazed into the mirror now, I felt as though her spirit merged with mine. I saw her eyes in my eyes, the smile around her lips become the smile around mine. It was like focusing a camera, bringing the lines of the image together so the picture would be clear and sharp.

My heart pounded with the pain that resulted from the realization she would never again come up beside me while I prepared to go out to a party or to school and put her hand on my shoulder, stroke my hair, give me some advice, or kiss my cheek. Wearing this dress and making myself look more like her only brought home that painful truth more vividly.

I wheeled myself away from the mirror and over to the vanity table to get a tissue. While I wiped my eyes, I looked at some of the other photographs. There was one particular picture that captured my attention. In it Mommy was posing in a silly way by the stables. Maybe Daddy took the picture; but what caught my eye was Tony in the background. He was gazing at her the same way he had just been gazing at me, with that same twisted smile.

I studied it for a few moments and then looked at some of the other photographs. One of my grandmother Leigh stood out. I brought it beside the one of my mother at the stables and realized what it was that made the two pictures so significant. My grandmother was at the stables, too, and she was taking a similarly silly poise and wearing the same riding outfit. When the two pictures were held side by side, my mother and her mother looked more like sisters.

Maybe that was what made Tony smile so. It should have made me smile, too, but it didn't.

"Did you want to take off that dress or wear it all day?" Mrs. Broadfield snapped. I turned about and saw her standing just in the doorway, her hands on her hips. If she was annoyed by Tony's orders, she shouldn't be taking it out on me, I thought. Aggressively, no longer willing to play humble and helpless, I held my head high and proud, flaring back.

"Of course not," I said. "I'll take it off and set it aside for tomorrow."

Her eyes widened with surprise at my tone of voice and she dropped her hands from her hips.

"Fine. It's time for your hydrotherapy, anyway." She went into the bathroom to prepare the hot water. This time when she lowered me into it, it seemed absolutely scalding. I cried out in pain, but she didn't seem concerned. I could see my skin turning crimson under the water. It took my breath away, and I tried to lift my body up and out, but she pressed my shoulders down, keeping me submerged in the scorching water.

"You've got to build up a tolerance to the heat," she explained after I complained again, and then she started up the jets that made the water bubble and toss about. Hot drops bounced up to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and neck, some hitting my cheeks and stinging. She left me there, clinging to the sides while she went out to prepare some creams for my ma.s.sage.

I looked down at my traitorous legs and feet and did as the doctor told me to do, think recuperation . . recuperation . . . recuperation. I had to get myself out of this situation as fast as I could. I stared at my toes and thought about moving them. Suddenly, I saw my big toe twitch.

"Mrs. Broadjield!"She didn't come back, thinking only wanted her to get me out of the hot tub. "Mrs. Broadfield, come look!" I demanded. After I called again, she returned.

"I told you. You have to--"

"No, no, it's my big toe. The big toe on my right foot moved." She looked down into the water. "Move it again."

I tried, but nothing happened.

"It did move. I saw it. I did!"

She shook her head.

"What you saw was the wave in the water. It made it appear as if the toe moved."

"No, it did. I swear."

"Uh-huh. Very nice." She spun on her heel and went back to preparing my ma.s.sage.

Feeling dejected, exhausted from the heat and the effort, I lay my head back and closed my eyes and waited for her to make up her mind I had had enough. Finally she returned and helped me out of the tub. My skin was as red as it would be had I fallen asleep on Virginia Beach in July and I was as limp as overcooked spaghetti. She spread me out facedown on the towels on my bed. I closed my eyes as she worked her strong hands down my body, beginning behind my neck and moving in slow circles over my back and b.u.t.tocks.

I opened them abruptly when I heard Tony's voice. My G.o.d, I thought, I'm stark naked on this bed! I tried to turn around to pull some of the toweling over me, but I couldn't move fast enough or enough of my body to do so, and Mrs. Broadfield did little to help.

"Sorry," he said. I just caught sight of him out of the corner of my right eye. "Just stopped by to tell you the hairdresser will be here at three. Sorry," he said again and left.

"Mrs. Broadfield, why didn't you close my door when you started this?" I demanded.

"That's the least of my concerns."

"Well, it's not the least of mine. I do have some modesty left, you know. Tony is a man."

"I know what Mr. Tatterton is, thank you. I'm sorry," she relented after a moment. "I'll be sure to close the door next time."

"Please do."

Even after she rubbed on the soothing cream and I put on my fresh nightgown, my skin tingled from the heat of that hot bath. It wasn't until I awoke from a brief nap that I felt any relief. Mrs. Broadfield brought me some juice and a little while later returned to tell me the hairdresser had arrived. She helped me back into my wheelchair just as Tony brought up the beautician, a tall, thin man with curly blond hair and eyebrows so light, they were practically invisible. He had very fair skin, but bright pink lips. I thought any woman would sell her soul for his soft green eyes.

Tony introduced him just as Renee and immediately added he was French. However, I had the impression he was of French background but born here in America. His accent seemed somewhat artificial, deliberate, something he might be affecting for his customers. After work he probably spoke like any other native American.

"Ah, mademoiselle." He stepped back and tilted his head first to the right and then to the left, nodding as he considered what had to be done with my hair. He reached forward and touched the strands, bouncing them in his palm and shaking his head. "Rich and tres thick," he said, "but alas, neglected, n'est-ce pas?" He turned to Tony for confirmation. Tony nodded. "Do not worry, mademoiselle, Renece will work his magic. In a short time I shall make miracles, eh?"

"I just want it washed and set," I said.

"Pardonnez-moi?" He looked at Tony. "But I thought . . . the color."

"Renee's an expert, Annie. Get his opinion first."

"You would brighten your face beaucoup, mademoiselle," he said, stepping back to consider me again. "Not difficult." He nodded, convincing himself. "Just put yourself in my hands, mademoiselle." He held out his palms as if I could see something unusual in his soft, thin fingers.

I glanced at myself in the wall mirror on the right. Maybe I should turn myself over to this socalled beauty expert, I thought.

"Very well, do what you think has to be done." "Tres bien." He rubbed his hands together. Tony was beaming. I closed my eyes and lay back in the chair as he wheeled me to the sink and his beauty expert began his work.

Looking into the mirror, I saw Mommy's face instead of my own. The change in hair color had done something magical, turned me into the face that gazed up at me from all those old pictures. It was as if the beautician had been some kind of conjurer, sending me back in time, doing what I knew Tony wished would happen--roll back years to the days when he was the happiest here at Farthy. There was a new look in my face. Renee had turned my hair silvery blond and had trimmed and set it so i looked just like Mommy had in that picture of her at the stables. In fact, Tony had given him the picture to work from before he left us.

I wondered how Luke would react. He had seen the old pictures of Mommy and he always told me he thought she was a dazzling beauty. Would he feel the same way when he first set eyes on me? Afterward, when we were alone, would he take my hand into his and whisper his true feelings. In my warm and loving imagination, I heard his words.

"Annie, when I first set eyes on you with your hair your mother's color, I knew that no matter how forbidden it was, I had to tell you my true feelings, let you know about my deep love for you. Oh, Annie, I can't deny it. I can't!"

I played those wished-for words over and over in my mind and then opened my eyes and gazed at myself in the mirror again. If changing my hair color could only do all that . .

"Annie, is that you?" Drake came into the bedroom carrying two suitcases filled with my clothing and shoes. He put them down at the Coot of the bed and stared at me, a half smile on his face. I put down the hand mirror and studied his face closely for his truthful reaction.

"Do I look silly?"

"No, not silly, just . . . different. You remind me of someone."

"My mother. When she first fetched you," I prompted.

"Yes." His eyes lit up with the realization. "Yes," he repeated excitedly. "Exactly. Hey, you look very good." As if he finally convinced himself I was still me, he jerked forward and came over to kiss me h.e.l.lo. "Really. I like it."

"I don't know. I feel . . . so different. Yet I can't believe Mommy was all that comfortable in this hair color. It's as if I'm pretending to be someone I'm not. Surely, she must have felt the same way."

Drake shrugged.

"She changed back soon after she and Logan returned to Winnerrow and bought Hasbrouck House. Maybe you're right."

"Tony has me convinced feel more like a young woman again. I was getting depressed about myself. But enough about me. Tell me about your trip to Winnerrow. Who did you meet? What did the servants say? How was the house and Aunt f.a.n.n.y?"

"Whoa . . . slow down." He laughed. I bit down on my lip to keep myself quiet and sat back impatiently. "Now, let's see . . . Winnerrow." He pretended he was trying to remember.

"Oh, don't tease me, Drake. You don't know how it's been being shut up like this."

His impish smile evaporated instantly and his eyes became soft and caring.

"Poor Annie. I am being cruel. I promise I will get myself back here more often to take you out and about. But, about Winnerrow. As soon as I entered the house the servants nearly ran me over rushing to find out about you. Mrs. Avery was in tears immediately, of course; even Roland looked on the verge of bawling. Gerald was the only one who kept a stiff upper lip, but that's because . ."

"His upper lip is stiff," I recited along with him. It was a joke we made behind Gerald's back.

"Oh, I miss them . . . all of them."

"I saw some of your school friends at the drugstore. They were all anxious to hear about you, and all send their love."

"And Aunt f.a.n.n.y? What about Aunt f.a.n.n.y?"

"Well . " He shook his head. "She was weird. I found her sitting out back reading. Yes, reading. And she was dressed kind of conservatively in this longsleeve, white cotton blouse and long, flowing skirt. She had her hair brushed down and pinned back. I actually didn't recognize her and asked Gerald who was that sitting on the gazebo."

"The gazebo!"

"Reading? What?"

"Get this--Emily Post. When I approached, she looked up and said, 'Oh, Drake, how wonderful ta see ya.' She held out her hand and wouldn't let go of mine until I kissed her on the cheek h.e.l.lo. I think it was the first time I ever kissed her. I actually had a halfintelligent conversation with her. Your mother and father's death has had a dramatic effect on her. She is determined to better herself, she says, to--how did she put it?-.--to be a credit to Heaven's memory. Can you imagine? I have to give her some points, though. The house was immaculate, and from what the servants told me, she hasn't been fooling around with any of her young boyfriends. In fact, she's been living like a nun."

"Did she ask about me?"

"Of course."

"Is she coming to see me?"

"She wanted to, but I was afraid to say anything until Tony tells me the doctor says it's all right."