Tell Me I'm Dreamin' (6 page)

“You could not be more right, Catherine, and it is because of that very thing that I am visiting Sovereign today. I must say, it makes me feel good to know my neighbors are concerned about my welfare.”

Madame Deane eyed the young man suspiciously, then slid the animal skin between the folds of her dress as she gave a sarcastic “Humph,” which Catherine attempted to cover up by clearing her throat.

“Would you care for breakfast, Master Sharpe?”

Madame Deane looked at Catherine as if she had sided with the enemy. Then she leaned over and placed a protective arm about her portion of fresh fruit, cheese, bread, and honey, making her feelings about sharing obvious.

Rodney Sharpe put forth his most engaging smile, ignoring his cantankerous neighbor. “Thank you, Catherine, I would love a cup of coffee. By the way is Ulysses back?”

“No, he is not,” Madame Deane responded in a refined, mature voice. “We are expecting my nephew back tomorrow.”

Her tone was completely different from moments before, and Rodney looked at her as if he expected to see someone else. And in a way she was. Madame Deane's posture now appeared regal, and the wild look in her eyes had been replaced by an almost genteel glow. Rodney sat down in the chair across the table from her. He appeared unnerved by the change, as if he were more comfortable with her initial persona.

“I am truly beginning to miss him.” She looked up from her plate wistfully, her back arrow-straight in her wheelchair, her frail chin holding an aristocratic tilt. “And now that all the roads are blocked, there is no telling when he will return.”

“Well,” came a deep voice from the doorway, “you can stop worrying, Aunt Helen. The most beautiful woman on Eros should never worry.” The words reflected Ulysses' admiration for his only aunt. “And with the way you look this morning, even Cleopatra of Egypt would be envious of you.”

“Ulysses! You are back!” Madame Deane's frail shoulders seemed to straighten as he bent and kissed her withered cheek. Her eyes twinkled as she followed his movements, watching him fold his six-feet-two frame into the chair beside hers. He was taller than his father had been, taller than most of the people on Eros, but height wasn't the only thing that made Ulysses Deane unique.

His bountiful black curls brushed his neck in a virile, disorderly fashion. One curl managed to escape and hang provocatively low on his forehead. Madame Deane recalled when he was a child how she would twirl it on her index finger, tweaking it repeatedly to watch it spring back and forth. She had always loved his curly hair. Her lips turned up in an attractive smile as she thought of how Ulysses blamed her for training the stray curl whenever it materialized at inopportune times.

Helen Deane continued to look at her nephew. His eyebrows were uncharacteristically arched as if drawn with a fine hand. The word “uncharacteristic” came to mind because there was nothing about his character that was not explosive, even unruly. He was his own man, and all of his life he had paid the price for it.

It was hard for her to see her heritage, the British heritage, in Ulysses' face with his strong nose, mouth, and jaw. But his mother's heritage, Egypt, was quite obvious in his skin color and his hair, setting him apart from the group at the table. His hair texture was curlier and coarser than her own, and to her, his complexion was a most interesting hue, for his skin was decisively darker, a deep caramel. Because of Ulysses' coloring, his perfect teeth shone brightly as he surrendered an uncommon, but nevertheless melting smile in his aunt's direction.

Ulysses had always been fond of his aunt. When Helen Deane was completely present, like this morning, it reminded him of the times before her accident. Her Greek dress and the artificial band of olive leaves were the only obvious signs of her eccentricity.

“Catherine, bring Ulysses his favorite, coconut water and conkies,” Madame Deane called. “And check on our guest as well, would you please.”

“Of course,” Catherine replied and went back inside the house.

Catherine opened the door to Nadine's bedroom and peered inside to see if Nadine still slept. She saw the bed was empty and made up, and she announced herself in a proper manner.

“Miss Nadine, it is Catherine. May I come in?”

“Of course, Catherine. How are you this morning?” she inquired from her seat on a divan.

Nadine had been awake for a while, but without her clothes she was confined to her room. In their place were two pieces of finely crinkled linen draped across the end of the sofa.

“I am fine, thank you,” Catherine replied. “Madame Deane sent me to check on you. I told her you would be disappointed not seeing your clothes this morning, but she insisted that I leave the pieces of cloth so you could wear a chiton today. I tried to explain to her about your plans to leave Sovereign, but she would not hear it. Now Clarence says the earthquake made all the major paths and roads on the island impassable. So it appears you are stuck here with us, at least for a day or so.”

“Impassable.” Nadine repeated the word as if she did not understand, so caught up was she in the inevitability of seeing Ulysses Deane again. Yet she made sure her response to Catherine did not convey her thoughts. “What in the world am I going to do? I need to let my boss, Dr. Steward, know where I am. He's got to be worried about me, and each day I remain here I am getting further behind in my assigned work.”

“There is nothing you can do about that at the moment,” Catherine stated flatly then added, “Come down and join everyone for breakfast. Master Ulysses has returned. He and Rodney Sharpe are with Madame Deane on the porch.”

Nadine rubbed her fingers across her forehead the way she always did when something was on her mind. “I believe I met Mr. Deane last night. As a matter of fact he was the one who led me here.”

“Is that right?” Catherine replied, mildly amused. “Ulysses is Ulysses, the handsome devil. If I had not seen him grow up and go through some things no child or adult should experience, I don't think I would ever understand him. I tell you this family has had its share of problems.”

“I'd say he is quite an enigma, and he likes the dark too.” Nadine's last words trailed off as she thought of her second meeting with Ulysses.

“Pardon me?” Catherine looked at Nadine, confused.

“Never mind,” she replied quickly, then changed the subject. “Catherine, I can't possibly go down there wearing this piece of material. They'll think I'm crazy,” she proclaimed, while admitting to herself that Ulysses probably already did after hearing her talk to herself and to the statue in the bath.

“I can understand how you feel, Miss Nadine, but I do not want to upset Madame Deane. You see, it's not really her fault that she has such an obsession with Greece. If you are to blame anyone, you can blame her brother, Master Peter. He wanted to claim all of his ancestors, he used to say, and he swore way before the British Deanes settled in this part of the world they were adventurers and pirates whose blood was a mixture of Greek and Portuguese. When the Deanes came here back in the late sixteen hundreds, they brought plenty of proof of that heritage with them in the books and art they owned. It was the Deanes who gave that statue of Dionysus to the island of Eros.” She nodded her head proudly before taking on a somber look. “So Greece holds a certain fascination for Madame Deane that she inherited for good or bad from her brother. And with the accident and all . . .” She looked down at the floor before looking up again. “When I left her a few moments ago she was the perfect lady of the house. If I told her you refused to wear it, I just know it would bring out her . . . other side.” She looked away momentarily. “Besides, with my help, you would look wonderful in it.”

Nadine did not like the thought of meeting Ulysses again wearing an ancient Greek dress. She would feel awkward enough if dressed in her best suit, pumps, and a single strand of pearls. But a Grecian costume! She looked at the housekeeper who was waiting for an answer. Still, Nadine thought, she had to consider, it was because of Madame Deane's hospitality that she had a place to stay after the earthquake. Nadine was reluctant to admit Ulysses Deane had a part in it as well.

“The longer we take, the more agitated Madame Deane will become,” Catherine added. “Soon we will hear her wheelchair roll up to your door and believe me, you will not like what you see if she is upset. It is not a pretty sight,” she concluded, pleading her mistress' case.

Nadine hesitated only a moment longer. “Okay. Fine. I'll wear it. But you're going to help me.”

“But of course I will,” Catherine replied, removing the soft pieces of material from the divan.

Nadine watched as she held them up lengthwise, then folded them over about a quarter of their width and placed one of the pieces in front of her, the other at her back. “Now, hold the material right here,” she instructed, bunching the cloth together above Nadine's slender shoulders.

Absorbed in what Catherine was doing, she obeyed. The housekeeper went to the dresser and took two brooches out of an intricately woven container. Afterwards she used the trinkets to fasten the cloth together on top of Nadine's shoulders. Nadine was amazed at how quickly the dress was completed with no sewing or cutting, as well as how it fell in graceful folds about her upper body, creating a sleeveless look. As a finishing touch Catherine placed a piece of decorative cord to serve as a belt. She fluffed and bloused the garment above the belt, and below it, creating large ripples that continued down to the floor.

Once Catherine's handiwork was completed, Nadine turned to look at herself in the full-length mirror. She simply stared, barely recognizing herself. The only physical reminders of the woman she knew were the dark spots that remained beside her nose from wearing eyeglasses, and her round butt that was a Clayton trademark.

“My, my, my. You are a picture,” Catherine crooned, standing behind her. “That shade of green brings out the color of your eyes, and with your hair pulled back like that, it gives them an exotic look.” She tilted her head to the side. “And if you don't mind me saying so, I do not think I have ever seen anyone whose skin was such a color. Your hair almost matches it to a tee,” Catherine proclaimed. “It reminds me of one of my spices. Cinnamon, that is what. It reminds me of cinnamon. But I have to tell you it's those unusual-colored eyes that are your best feature. They are nothing less than captivating.”

Nadine could feel herself blushing under such unadulterated praise, but she had to admit she was pleased by what she saw in the mirror. Somehow the chiton had transformed her from the lackluster woman who grew up in a small Mississippi town into an almost ethereal being. It was a new beginning and Nadine knew that Gloria would be impressed.

“I can't believe it,” she heard herself say softly. “I look like something out of a book.” She studied her own image. “As a child I loved reading stories about faraway places, and I would have dreams of being there. Many of the dreams took place on islands like this one. I would go there as a stranger, but I would always be very well received, as if I was coming back home. I would be given gifts of jewelry, clothing. Once I was even given a story that had been written about me. It became my childhood secret, believing in and vowing to find that written story.”

Nadine's awe over seeing her gossamer image in the glass had goaded her into professing some of her most private thoughts. Aware of what she had revealed, Nadine looked into Catherine's wary features. “Don't you tell anybody I said that, Catherine,” she threatened. “As my grandma used to say, sometimes I get beside myself.”

“No, you are right, Miss Nadine,” Catherine replied, her eyes becoming cow-like. “It is amazing how well the style and color suits you. Almost like you had worn clothes like this before.” Her words were breathy. She avoided Nadine's eyes as Nadine sought hers in the mirror.

“You're thinking about Madame Deane, aren't you?”

Catherine nodded.

“Lenora.” Nadine sampled the name out loud “That's the name she called me, isn't it?”

“Yes, it is.”

“It's such a beautiful name. Did she really exist?”

“I really cannot say, Miss Nadine. I only know the bits and pieces Madame Deane has told me and they were a ball of confusion,” Catherine rushed on. “We would need all the time in the world to make sense of it. Sometimes in her world a plain rock is a precious gem and an old animal skin is an ancient manuscript. So I can assure you we don't have time to make sense of the things Madame Deane talks about, not if we want to get down to breakfast before madame comes looking for us.”

Nadine could tell Catherine did not want to discuss the matter. If the housekeeper believed that the story surrounding this woman, Lenora, was just the mental meanderings of an eccentric old woman, why would she avoid discussing it? “I guess you're right. All I need to do is slip on these sandals.” She placed her feet into the leather shoes. “There. A perfect fit.”

Feeling the spirit of the costume overtake her, Nadine held the material up daintily above her ankles. “After you, Catherine.”

The housekeeper beamed a generous smile. “Madame will be pleased when she sets eyes on you.”

Chapter
6

Nadine stood motionless in the doorway, watching the three people at the breakfast table. Catherine had led her to the lanai, but had continued down the hallway to get more food for the morning meal. Nadine thought the scene was a unique blend of old and new. The furnishings, the landscape, and Madame Deane's clothing appeared to be from another time, while the two men were of the present. Nadine found herself focusing on Ulysses. She could feel her confidence, bolstered by the pleasure in her appearance, slipping away when Madame Deane spotted her. Immediately, the woman's eyes took on an unnatural glow, reminding Nadine of how bizarre the occupants of Sovereign really were. She wondered what was going on in Madame Deane's mind as her gaze darted from her to Ulysses.