As I sang I could almost snatch their thoughts from the air. Another crummy Casteel had come again into their sanctified midst! Their hostile eyes swept again over my face, over my clothes, sneered at the jewelry I wore in ostentatious excess just to show them what I had now—everything!
A murmur of disapproval rippled through the crowd, but I didn't care. I had given them all a good chance to look me over in my jewels and my expensive suit.
But those eyes still weren't impressed, or if they were, they didn't widen with admiration or narrow with surprise. To them a porkbelly had more of a chance of transforming into ten billion bats of gold than I had of becoming respectable.
As abruptly as the heads had swiveled to see me advance to the front, now each and every one of those heads turned away, almost like a fan of faces folding. The hillbillies to the sides of me and behind me did as the valley folk did, and that was to turn slightly from me. I squared my shoulders, sat down, and waited. Waited for whatever cue would come along from whatever sermon the good and holy Reverend chose this particular Sunday night. There was suspense in the air, a silence pregnant with ill will. Perched uneasily in the pew, I thought of Logan and his parents, wondering if they had chosen tonight to come to church. I slipped my eyes around as best I could without turning my head, hoping and fearing to see the Stonewalls.
Then, suddenly, heads were again turning to stare at an old man who was hobbling with a stiff-kneed gait down the center aisle. I kept my eyes straight ahead, but I saw him nevertheless in my peripheral vision—coming to sit beside me!
It was Grandpa!
My own grandpa, whom I had seen only two days ago! Grandpa, who had pocketed the hundred-dollar bills, promising vacantly to give the money to Tom. And here he was, far from Florida and Georgia, grinning at me shyly, showing the sad state of his toothless mouth. Then he whispered, "Good t'see ya.
Heaven girl."
"Grandpa," I whispered. "What are you doing back here?" 1 slipped my arm about his waist and hugged him as best I could. "Did you give the money I gave you to Tom?"
"Don't like flat places," he mumbled in way of explanation, casting down his pale eyes that seemed to shed tears, though I knew they often watered.
"What about the money?"
"Tom don't want it."
I frowned, not knowing how to pursue
something in the brain of an old man who didn't know how to separate reality from fantasy. "Did Pa ask you to leave?"
"Luke's a good boy. He wouldn't do that."
It made me feel good to have him at my side, lending support just with his presence. He hadn't turned away as had Keith and Our Jane. Tom must have told him I was coming to Winnerrow and he had managed to get here to give me moral support; and no doubt, Pa had the money I'd meant for Tom.
Church members turned in their pews to glare hard at us, putting cautionary fingers before pursed lips, causing Grandpa to slump down in the pew so he ended up on the end of his spine in his efforts to obediently disappear. "Sit upright," I hissed, elbowing him sharply. "Don't let them intimidate you." But Grandpa stayed where he was, clutching his worn-out old straw hat as if it were a shield.
Reverend Wise stood silent and tall and
impressive behind the podium, looking directly at me.
The distance from him to me was about twenty feet, still I thought I saw in his eyes something like a warning.
Obviously he'd opened the service earlier, for he didn't begin with one of his long-winded prayers that went on forever. He began in a smooth, conversational voice that was rich and compelling:
"The winter has ended. Springtime has come and gone. We are well into another summer, and soon autumn will brighten our trees, and then the snow will fall again—and what have we accomplished? Have we gained ground, or lost it? I know we have suffered and we have sinned since the day we were born, and yet our Lord in his infinite mercy has seen fit to keep us alive.
"We have laughed and we have cried, and we have fallen ill and we have recovered. There are some of us who have given birth, and some of us who have lost loved ones, for that is the way of our Lord, to give, to take, to exchange losses with gifts, to restore only to destroy with the whims of nature.
"And always, no matter how great our travail, the stream of His love carries us through, so we can gather together in places of worship like this, and celebrate life even when death is all around us, and tragedy is tomorrow's certainty, just as today and this hour and minute is our time of rejoicing. We are all blessed in hidden ways, and cursed in other ways. To hate and to harbor grudges, and to pass judgment without knowledge of circumstances is an evil compa-rable to murder. And though no one may know our secret hearts, there are no secrets from Him above."
Why, he was like the Bible—ambiguous—and his words could be construed to mean anything. He talked on in a chanting, sing-song tone, never taking his eyes off of me, but I had to shift my gaze or be paralyzed from pure awe, for he had that kind of mesmerizing power.
Then, out of the blend of many furtive stares I encountered the blazing rage of two hard, green eyes beneath the narrow rim of a green straw hat—glaring at me in a contemptuous way was Reva Setterton, the mother of Kitty Dennison!
Icewater trickled down my spine. How could I have come back to Winnerrow without giving a single thought to Kitty's family? Only then did I overtly glance around to see Logan, or his parents. They weren't here, thank God. My hand rose to my fore-
head, which grew alarmingly hot, aching and throbbing. An onrush of sensations unfamiliar to me was making me feel dizzy, unreal.
Grandpa suddenly sat up, then rose shakily to his feet, reaching for my hand so he could tug me to my feet. "Ya don't look so good," he murmured, "an'
we don't belong up here." I was weak to allow him to defeat my purpose in this way, and yet for an old man his grip on my hand was strong, so strong the rings on my fingers bit into my flesh. I followed him to the back of the church, and there we again sat. An overwhelming memory of how it used to be swept over me. I was a child again, awed by the fine folks in rich new clothes, impressed by the church with its tall stained-glass windows, made humble by the God who ignored our needs and catered to those who dropped in dollars instead of small change.
The throbbing pain in my head stabbed sharply.
What was I doing here? Me, a nobody, a nothing, come to do battle with the man who had to be the champion gladiator in the Winnerrow's Sunday colise-um. I glanced with some dismay around the crowded church, hoping to find one pair of friendly eyes . . .
and what was it the Reverend had said to make all of them turn to glare at me?
Faces smeared into one giant blob with huge, hostile eyes, and all the security Troy's love had bestowed peeled off like new paint applied to wet wood. Trembling and weak with the hate I saw everywhere, I wanted to stand and run and drag Grandpa out of there before the lions were let out of the cages!
Like sleeping beauty waking up in an enemy camp, I lost the enchantment that had begun the day I stepped into Farthinggale Manor. And had deepened the day I found Troy.
Distant and unreal they seemed now, only figments of my overactive imagination. I glanced down at my hands as I began to twist the nine-carat diamond engagement ring Troy had insisted I wear even if we never married. Then I was playing thoughtlessly with my pearls suspending a diamond and sapphire pendant, a special engagement gift from Troy. Funny how I had to cling to the hardness of those jewels to convince myself that only days ago I'd lived in one of the most fabulous and wealthy homes in the world.
Time lost itself that Sunday night in the church.
I grew old, and I grew younger. Fevered and miserable, my bones ached for bed.
"Let us all bow our heads and pray," instructed the Reverend, at last releasing his riveting gaze, and I could breathe more freely. "Let us humbly pray for forgiveness so we may enter into this new chapter in our lives without carrying into it old sins, and old grievances, and old promises never kept. Let us
assign to each new day respect for those who we feel may have harmed us in the past, and pledge to ourselves we will do unto others as we would have done onto us.
"We are mortals put upon this earth to live out our lives with humility, without resentments, harboring no grudges . ." and on and on he talked, seemingly to me.
Finally the sermon was over, and he'd said nothing I hadn't heard before, so why was it I kept thinking he was cautioning me to keep my peace? Did he know that I knew he had fathered that pretty little girl who was carried in from a backroom nursery, and still sleeping, put in the arms of his wife? I stood up, assisting Grandpa to his feet, and headed for the door, not waiting in place as all hillbilly scum were supposed to do, so they'd be the last to leave and shake the pious, saintly hand of the Reverend.
Hardly were Grandpa and I out on the street steamy with heavy humidity, than a man was fast approaching me and calling out my name. At first I thought it was Logan . . . then my heart sank into my shoes. It was Cal Dennison, stretching forth his hand and beaming a happy smile into my face. "Heaven, dear Heaven," he breathed, "how wonderful to see you again! You look beautiful, absolutely wonderful. .
. now tell me all about yourself, what you've been doing, and how you like Boston."
When streets were hot in Winnerrow, and
inside it was even hotter, the residents of the village were not prone to enter bedrooms when porches were so inviting. I heard the clink and clank of ice in pitchers of lemonade, as I stood and floundered and wondered how to talk to Cal Dennison, who had once been my friend, and my seducer.
"I like Boston very much," I said, as I caught hold of Grandpa's arm and headed for the hotel where I had registered. Strolling Main Street was like walking a gauntlet of enemies, everyone stared at us, and I didn't need or want to be seen with Cal Dennison!
"Heaven, are you trying to brush me off?"
asked Cal, his good-looking face glistening with a layer of sweat. "Please, can't we go somewhere and sit down and share a drink and talk?"
"I have a terrible headache, and I'm looking forward to a long, cool bath before bed," I said honestly.
His entire countenance seemed to collapse on hearing my excuse. "You sound like Kitty," he mumbled, bowing his head, and instantly I was stricken with guilt.
I remembered then that Grandpa was still at my side. "Where are you staying, Grandpa?" I asked, when we were outside the one and only hotel in Winnerrow.
"Luke done fixed up t'cabin fer Annie an me.
I'm stayin' there, of course."
"Grandpa, stay with me in the hotel. I can rent you another room, one with a color TV."
"Gotta git me back t'Annie . . . she's waitin."
I resigned myself. "But Grandpa, how will you get there?"
His bewilderment made him sway even as he stood and waited for me. "I'll ketch me a ride with Skeeter Burl. He likes me now."
Skeeter Burl? He was the worst enemy Pa had ever made in the hills—and he liked Grandpa now?
That was like believing July sunbathers liked January snow. And like the damned fool I could sometimes be, totally out of my head, I gently took Grandpa by the arm, and together we turned toward the hotel.
"Grandpa, it looks as if you're going to have to spend the night in the hotel after all."
Instant alarm was his. He'd never slept in a
"rented" bed. He didn't want to. Annie needed him!
He had animals at home who would suffer if he didn't return. His pale and leaking eyes pleaded pitifully.
"Ya go on t'yer hotel, Heaven girl. Don't ya worry none about me."
Desperation gave him needed strength. He tore loose from my restraining grip, and moving more swiftly than I could believe, Grandpa began hobbling off down Main Street. "Ya go on an tend t'yer business. Don't like beds not my own!"
"I'm glad he's gone," said Cal, catching hold of my arm and guiding me into the hotel lobby and toward a small coffee shop. "This is where I'm staying, too. I've come to Winnerrow to settle some estate legalities with Kitty's parents, who have fought me tooth and nail, claiming I contributed nothing to their daughter's estate, therefore I don't deserve to have even the part she left me."
"Can they break her will?" I asked wearily, wishing to God I'd not had the misfortune to run into him.
We settled down behind a small round table, and soon Cal was placing an order for a late-evening snack. He acted toward me just as if nothing had altered our relationship, and very well he might expect to end up with me in his bed. I sat stiff and uncomfortable, knowing I was going to disillusion him the moment he made even one small advance.
Nibbling on my bacon-lettuce-and-tomato
sandwich, I half listened to Cal as he spilled out all the difficulties he was having with his Setterton in-laws. "And I'm lonely, Heaven, so lonely. Life just doesn't seem right without a woman nearby. I am legally entitled to everything Kitty left me, but when her family contests, it forces me to hire lawyers, and that holds up all the settlements. I will lose half of Kitty's estate in court and attorney costs—but they don't care. They are having their revenge."
My eyes had grown very heavy by this time.
"But they don't hate you, Cal, so why are they doing this?"
He sighed and bowed his head into his cradling hands. "It's Kitty they hate for not leaving them more than her good wishes." He glanced upward, tears shining in his eyes. "Is there a chance a beautiful young girl will turn my way again? We could get married this time, Heaven. We could have a family. I could finish my education, as you finish yours, and we could both be teachers."
I was numb with fatigue, unable to resist when Cal picked up my hand and held it to his lips, then pressed my palm against his cheek. And just at this point, Logan Stonewall, with a pretty girl at his side, sauntered into the coffee shop and pulled a chair for the girl, whom I recognized as Kitty's own sister, Maisie!
Oh, my God! I had hoped not to see Logan. He looked wonderfully healthy but somehow older than when I'd seen him last. A certain youthful quality had been replaced by cynicism, which twisted his smile crookedly. Had I done that to him? His dark sapphire eyes met mine briefly before he lifted his hand and saluted, and then his eyes moved to stare with surprise and disgust at Cal. From that point on he made a studied effort not to look our way. However, Maisie was not as discreet. ―Logan honey, ain’t that yer ole girlfriend, Heaven Casteel?"
He didn't bother to dignify her question with an answer. Quickly I was on my feet. "I'm not feeling well, Cal. Please excuse me. I'm going straight to my hotel room and to bed."
Disappointment flooded Cal Dennison's face.
"I'm very sorry to hear that," he said, standing and reaching for the check. "Please allow me to see you to your room."
It wasn't necessary, and I didn't want him to come, but pain was behind my eyes, and fatigue was deep in my bone marrow. What was wrong with me?
Despite all my objections, which were many, Cal followed me into the hotel lobby, stepped into the elevator, which took us to the sixth floor, and then insisted on opening my door. Quickly I stepped into the room and tried to close the door behind me, but he was quicker. Before I knew what was happening, Cal was in my room and holding me in his arms, raining on my face hot and passionate kisses.
I struggled to free myself. "Stop! No! This isn't what I want! Leave me alone, Cal! I don't love you! I don't think I ever did! Now let me go!" I struck out at his face with a balled fist and just missed giving him a black eye.
The surprise and fury of my attack caught him off guard. His arms fell away, and he stepped backward, seemingly on the verge of tears. "I never thought you'd forget all the good things I did for you, Heaven," he said with sadness. "Ever since I came back to Winnerrow three days ago, I've hoped and prayed and dreamed of seeing you again. People here have heard about your good fortune, but they don't want to believe it. And I know Logan Stonewall is seeing half a dozen girls, including Maisie."
"I don't care who he sees!" I sobbed, sh
oving at Cal and trying to push him out of my room. "All I want to do is take a bath and go to bed—now get out and leave me alone!"
He went then. He stood in the hotel hall beyond my open door and stared in at me with the saddest expression. "My room number is 310 in case you change your mind. I need someone like you. Give yourself a chance to love me again."
Images of Cal and Kitty together flashed through my mind. Kitty saying no to his nightly advances; his pleading voice coming through the walls and into my room—oh, yes, he had needed me!
Needed someone young and gullible and stupid enough to think he was a genuine friend . . and still, as he stood there with those tears in his eyes, I pitied him. "Good night and goodbye, Cal," I said softly, stepping to where I could slowly close the door in his face. "It's all over between us. Find someone else."
The click of the closing door almost smothered his sob. I turned the key, put on a dead bolt, and ran for the bathroom. My thoughts were in turmoil—why had I come back to Winnerrow? To buy back Fanny's baby? What a ridiculous idea! My hand went to my head. When the tub was full, I stepped into the water and carefully sat down. The water was a bit too hot.
Kitty had liked very hot bath water. Where had Grandpa gone? Could it be he would return to that miserable cabin?
After I finished my bath, I couldn't get Grandpa out of my thoughts. What had he done with all the money I'd given him? I had to find Grandpa. I wouldn't be able to sleep until I knew he was safe at the cabin. My head was throbbing as I left the hotel.
Main Street was steamy with humidity. Hardly a breeze blew. Up in the Willies the wind would sing through the tree leaves, having chased over the mountains, so it could sometimes cool even the tiny, cluttered rooms of that miserable shack.
Dark Angel (Casteel Series #2) Page 27
