"Heaven . . . I'm never going to love anyone as much as I love you! I know we're both young and inexperienced and the world is full of others who might attract us later on, but right this minute you've got my heart in your hand, and you can throw it down, step on it, and crush it. Don't do that to me."
I couldn't speak, made dumb from all the guilt I felt, all the shame of not being the girl he thought I was.
"Please, look at me. I need you to love me, and now you don't let me touch you, hold you. Heaven, we're not kids anymore. We're old enough now to feel adult emotions--and share adult pleasures."
Another man who wanted to take from me!
"My family gives me lots to worry about. I wonder how I managed to grow at all," I managed to say.
"Seems to me you did a super job of growing-- and shaping up." His tentative, troubled smile faded as his eyes went serious, and for a moment I thought I saw in those stormy bliie eyes all the devotion and love an ocean could hold. For me, for me! An eternity of love, caring, and faithfulness. A deep throb stabbed me and made me feel for a moment there was hope, when there couldn't be, not ever.
"What's the matter?" he asked when I began to stride onward at a faster pace. "Have I said something wrong? Again? Remember the day we pledged ourselves to each other?"
I remembered just as much as he did that wonderful day when we'd lain by the river and made our childish vows to love each other forever. Now I knew nothing lasted forever.
Then it had been easy to make pledges, thinking neither he nor I would or could ever change. Now everything had changed. I wasn't worthy of him anymore, if ever I had been. Funny how being a hill scumbag wasn't nearly as humiliating as being what I was since first I had allowed Cal to touch me, just another trampy girl who'd allowed herself to be used by a man.
"I guess you've never had any girlfriend but me?" Bitterness was in my voice that he didn't seem to notice.
"Just dates, casual dates."
We'd reached Martin's Road. And there on the corner was a huge monster of a house, painted a sickly sea-foam green, like froth on the sea, like Kitty's eyes.
The yard about the house was wide, mowed to perfection. It was hard to picture Grandpa shut up in such a big house as that. Every last one of the old rockers on the porch was empty. Why wasn't Grandpa on that grand front porch, whittling?
"If you want, I'll wait out here while you visit with him," Logan said thoughtfully.
I stared at all those tall thin windows, all those steps there had to be inside, and Grandpa might now be as feeble and lame as Granny had been.
The home was on a treelined street. All the houses looked well kept up. Each had a front lawn, and morning newspapers lay on porch steps, or near the doors. Husbands in morning disarray were out walking dogs on leashes.
Many a night I'd visited Winnerrow in dreams when all the streets were dim, empty, and dogs didn't bark, and birds didn't sing, and not a sound was to be heard. Terrible dreams in which I walked alone, always alone, searching for Our Jane, Keith, and Tom. Never for Grandpa, as if my subconscious had truly believed he'd always be in that hill cabin, somehow surviving, just because I wanted him to.
Logan spoke again. "I've heard that your grandfather helps with the cleaning to pay for his room and board, when your father forgets or is late paying Sally Trench."
The sun, hardly over the horizon, was already blazing-hot, smothering the valley. No refreshing cool breezes blew as they did up in the Willies. And to think all my life I'd believed the valley represented paradise.
"Let's go," Logan said, taking me by the elbow and guiding me across the street and up the brick walk. "I'll wait out here on the porch. Take your time. I've got all day--all my life--to spend with you."
A fat, frowsy-looking woman in her mid-fifties responded to my timid knock, stared at me with intense interest, then swung the screen door wide and admitted me.
"I've been told my grandfather, Mr. Toby Casteel, is staying here with you," I announced.
"Sure, honey, he's here--an ain't ya a pretty thin, though. Really a pretty thin, ya are, ya truly are. Love that color hair, those pretty lips--kissin lips, ya could say." She sighed, glanced in a nearby window, and scowled at her own reflection before she turned back to me. "Dear old man, got a soft spot in my heart fer such as him. Took him in when nobody else would. Put him in a nice room, an fed him betta meals than he's eva had before. Lay ya ten t'one on that, twenty t'one. Bettin fool, I am. Have t'be. Kin't stay in this kinda business if ya don't gamble. People's tricky, real tricky. Younguns come an put their parents in here an say they'll pay, an they don't. They go, neva show up agin, an some old daddy or momma sits all their lives away, awaitin an awaitin fer visitors who neva come, an letters nobody writes. It's a shame, a cryin shame, what kids kin do t'parents once they're too old to do em any good."
"I understood my father sends money every month."
"Oh, he does, he does! A fine man, yer father, a real fine lookin an actin man. Why, I rememba him from way back when he were a kid, an all t'gals were hot t'catch him. Kin't say I blame em none--but he sure turned out a lot different than most folks thought he would--he sure did."
What did she mean? Pa was a rotter through and through, and all of Winnerrow had to know that.
She grinned, showing false teeth so white they appeared chalky. "Nice place, ain't it? Yer Heaven Casteel, ain't ya? Saw yer mom once or twice, a real beauty, really too fine fer this hateful world, an I guess God must've thought t'same thing. Ya got t'same kind of look as she had, tender, like ya kin't take much." She rested her small but friendly eyes on me before she frowned again. "Get ya gone from this place, honey. Ya ain't meant fer t'likes of what we are."
She would have rambled on all day if I hadn't asked to see my grandfather. "I haven't got much time. I'd like to see my grandfather now."
The woman led me through the dim foyer of the house. I glimpsed old-fashioned rooms with beaded lampshades, browning portraits hanging from ceiling moldings on heavy twisted silken ropes, before I was led up the steep stairs. This huge house seemed terribly old now that I was inside. All the glory of new paint and refurbishings was on the outside. There was nothing fresh and clean inside but the scent of Lysol.
Lysol. . .
Take yer bath now, hill scum.
Use plenty of Lysol, stupid.
Gotta rid ya of Casteel filth.
I shivered.
We passed a room on the second floor that seemed a page straight from a thirties Sears catalog.
"Ya kin have five minutes with him," I was informed as the woman became more businesslike. "I've got sixteen people t'feed three meals a day, an yer grandpa has t'do his share of t'work."
Grandpa hadn't ever done his share of the housework!
How abruptly some personalities could change. Up three more flights of steep, twisting stairs. The buttocks under that flimsy cotton dress seemed twin wild animals fighting each other--I had to look away. Oh, how had Grandpa managed to climb these stairs, even once? How did he ever go outside? The higher we went, the older the house appeared. Up here no one cared if the paint was chipped and peeling off, if roaches scuttled all over the floor. Spiders spun webs in dim corners, draped them from chair to table, from lamp to base. What a fright all this would give Kitty! . . .
On the top level, we followed a narrow hall with many closed doors, to reach the door at the very end, and when it was opened, it revealed a pitifully small, shabby room, with a sagging old bed, a small dresser--and there sat Grandpa in a creaky old rocker. He'd aged so much I hardly recognized him. It broke my heart to see the second rocker--both chairs had been taken from our pitiful cabin in the Willies, and Grandpa was talking as if Granny sat in her rocker. "Ya work t'hard on yer knittin," he murmured. "Gotta get ready fer Heaven girl who's comm. ."
It was unbelievably hot up there.
There was no beautiful scenery all around, no dogs, cats, kittens, pigs, hogs, or chickens to keep my grandpa company. Nothing here at all but
a few pieces of beat-up old furniture. He was so lonely he'd turned on his imagination, and put his Annie in that empty rocker.
As I stood in the open doorway hearing that landlady stomp away, an overwhelming pity washed over me. "Grandpa . . . it's me, Heaven Leigh."
His faded blue eyes turned to stare my way, not with interest as much as with surprise at hearing a different voice, seeing a different face. Had he reached a certain kind of miserable plateau where nothing really mattered?
"Grandpa," I whispered again, tears welling, my heart aching to see him like this. "It's me, Heaven girl. That's what you used to call me--don't you
remember? Have I changed so much?"
Slow recognition came. Grandpa tried to smile, to show happiness, his pale eyes lighting up, opening wider. I threw myself into his arms that slowly opened to receive me . . . and just in the nick of time. While he silently cried, I held him in my arms and wiped away his tears with my handkerchief.
"Now, now," soothed Grandpa, finding a rusty voice to use while smoothing my rumpled hair, "don't ya cry. We ain't sufferin, not Annie, not me. Neva had it so good before, huh, Annie?"
Oh, dear God! . . . He was looking at the empty rocker and seeing Granny! He even reached to pat where her hand would have been if she'd been sitting there. Then, almost with relief, he leaned over to spread sheets of old newspapers on the floor at his feet, and began with his sharp knife to shave a piece of tree limb free of bark. It was so good to see those hands busy.
"Lady here pays me an Annie t'work, help wid t'cookin, an t'make these critters," Grandpa said in a low whisper. "Hate t'see em go. Neva thought I'd let even one go, but it means nice thins for Annie. She kin't hear so good nowadays, either. Gonna buy her a hearin aid. But I kin hear good, real good. Don't need no glasses yet. . . . That is ya, Heaven girl, that really ya? Yer lookin good, like yer ma who came. Annie . . . where did Luke's angel come from? Kin't seem t'rememba much of nothin lately . . ."
"Granny's looking fine, Grandpa," I managed to say as I knelt by his side and put my cheek on his old gnarled hand when it was momentarily still. "Are they good to you here?"
"It's not so bad," he said vaguely, looking lost and bewildered when he moved his eyes over the room. "An I'm mighty glad t'see ya lookin so fine an pretty; pretty as yer own true ma. An here ya are, Luke's angel's Heaven. Gladdens this heart t'see yer face lookin like yer ma come back t'life."
He paused, looked at me uneasily before he went on. "Know ya don't love yer pa, know ya don't even want t'hear bout him, but still he's yer fatha, an there's nothin t'be done bout that now. My Luke's done gone an got himself some kind of crazy, dangerous job, so I hear tell, but don't know what it is, cept he's makin lots of money. Luke set Annie and me up here with his money, didn't leave us t'starve."
How grateful he seemed for nothing! This horrible small room! And then I felt shamed, for he was better off here than alone in the cabin.
"Grandpa, where is Pa?"
He stared at me blankly, then lowered his eyes to his whittling. "Like t'dead risin from t'grave," he muttered. "Like God tried once an made a mistake, an's tryin again t'do it right. God help her."
It sure did make me feel strange, his saying that. I knew he didn't realize he'd said those
frightening words aloud. Still, I felt sort of doomed. And even worse, he kept on speaking in that strange, mumbling way, as if to his Annie. "Would ya look at her, Annie, just would ya?"
"Grandpa, stop mumbling! Tell me where Pa is! Tell me where I can find Keith, Our Janet You see Pa . . he must have told you where they are."
Vacant stare into nowhere. No voice to answer a question like that.
It was no use.
In time he said all there was to say, and I stood to go. "I'll be coming back soon, Grandpa," I said at the door. "Take care, now. You hear?"
Then I joined Logan on the porch.
There was someone with him. A tall young man with dark auburn hair who turned when he heard the clickity-clack of my heels. I stared . . . and then my knees went weak.
Oh, my God!
It was Tom!
My brother Tom, standing and grinning at me, just the way he used to do . . . only thing was, in two years and eight months he'd grown to look almost exactly like Pa!
Tom stepped toward me, grinning broadly and holding out his arms. "I can't believe my eyes!" I ran to him then and was caught up in his strong embrace, and we were hugging, kissing, laughing, crying, both trying to talk at once.
Soon all three of us walked down Main Street with arms locked, me in the middle. We stopped at a park bench that just happened to face the church, and of course the parsonage was across from the church. Fanny could have looked out and seen us there, even if she was too cowardly to join her own family reunion.
"Now, Tom," I gushed, "tell me everything your letters didn't."
Tom glanced at Logan and seemed a little embarrassed. Immediately Logan was on his feet, making excuses that he had to hurry back home. "Sorry about this, Logan," Tom apologized, "but I've only got ten minutes to visit with my sister, and years of filling in to do, but I'll see you again in about a week."
"See you tomorrow in church," Logan said to me in a significant way.
Logan left, while I feasted my eyes on Tom. His sparkling green eyes locked with mine. "Good golly, if you ain't a sight for sore eyes."
"If you aren't' is the way you should say it." "I should have known. Still the schoolteacher!"
"You're no skinnier than you used to be, but so much taller, and so good-looking. Tom, I never guessed you'd grow to look like Pa."
What did he hear in my voice to take the smile from his eyes and lips? "You don't like the way I look now?"
"I like the way you look, of course I do. You're handsome--but did you have to grow up to look so much like Pa?" I almost shouted. Now I'd gone and hurt his feelings when I hadn't meant to do that. "I'm sorry, Tom," I choked, laying my hand on his huge one. "It's just that you took me by surprise."
He had an odd look on his face. "There's many a woman who thinks Pa is the best-looking man alive."
Frowning, I glanced away. "I don't want to talk about him, please. Now, have you heard anything about Keith and Our Jane?"
He turned his head so I saw his profile, and again I felt stunned that he could be so much like Pa. "Yeah. I heard they are fine, and Our Jane is alive and well. If Pa hadn't done what he did, no doubt she'd be dead."
"Are you making excuses for him?"
Again he turned to me and grinned. "You sound just like you used to. Don't hold on to hate, Heavenly . . . let go of it before it eats you up and makes you worse than he is. Think of those who love you, like me. Don't go spoiling everything good that will come along in the future because you had a cruel father. People change. He's taking care of Grandpa, isn't he? Never thought he'd do that, did you? And Buck Henry isn't nearly as mean as he looked that first time we saw him; as you can see, I'm not starved, not sick, not worked to death. And I'll be graduating from high school same time as you do."
"Your hair isn't as red as fire anymore . . ."
"Sorry about that, but I'm glad. Tell me if my eyes still shine with devilment."
"Yes, they still do."
"Then I haven't changed so much after all, have I?"
He had a clean, honest face, with clear, shining eyes without secrets, while I had to duck my head and hide my eyes, so scared he'd see my terrible secret. If he knew, he wouldn't respect me as he always had. He'd think I was no better than Fanny, and maybe even worse.
"Why are you hiding your eyes, Heavenly?"
I sobbed and tried to meet his gaze again. If only I could tell him everything right now, and say it all so that he'd see I had been as trapped by my Candlewick circumstances as Fanny had been by her hill genes. I began to tremble so much that Tom reached to pull me into his arms where I could rest my head on his shoulder. "Please don't cry cause you're so happy to see me, and make me cry, too. I haven't cried since the day Buck
Henry bought me from Pa. But I sure did cry a lot that night, wondering what had happened to you after he drove me away. Heavenly, you are all right, aren't you? Nothing bad happened, did it?"
"Of course I'm all right. Don't I look all right?"
He studied my face as I tried to smile and conceal all the guilt and shame I felt. What he saw apparently satisfied him, for he smiled as well. "Gee, Heavenly, it's great to be here with you. Now tell me everything that's happened to you since the day I went away--and say it all fast, cause I'll have to go in another few minutes."
The urgency in his voice made me look around--was Buck Henry with him?
"You first, Tom. Tell me everything you didn't in your letters!"
"Don't have time," he said, jumping to his feet and pulling me up as I saw a familiar stocky figure coming down the street. "That's him looking for me. Just one fast hug, and I've got to go. He's here in town buying vet supplies for two sick cows. Next time you've got to tell me more about your life in Candlewick. Your letters say so little. Too much talk about movies and restaurants and clothes. By gosh, it seems to me all of us were blessed the day Pa sold us off."
There were shadows in the emerald depths of his eyes, dark shadows I suddenly noticed, putting doubts in my mind as to his happiness; but before I could question, he was off, calling back: "I'm joining Mr. Henry, but be looking for me next Saturday, and bring Laurie and Thalia with me . . . and we'll all have lunch or dinner together--maybe both if we're lucky!"
I stood staring after him, so sad to see him going already; he was the one and only person who might understand, if only I could tell him. Tears were streaking my face as I watched him join that man I just couldn't believe Tom could like. Still, he looked fine. He seemed hdp-py, big, and strong. The shadows in his eyes were only there because of the shadows he caught from me, as always he'd been my reflection.
Next Saturday I'd see him again. I could hardly wait for the day!
Casteel 01 Heaven Page 36
