Dark Angel (Casteel Series #2)

by V. C. Andrews

  From time to time as we made our way toward the center tent, Fanny turned to hug Grandpa, before she lavished me with more affection. "Ole Mallory pays me a pretty alimony, but heck, it ain't no fun t'have money if ya don't make nobody jealous.

  Heaven, let's ya an' me show these hick dummies jus'

  what money kin do. I got me a nice big house on one hill ova there," she said, pointing, "an ya build on t'otha side of t'valley across from where I'm buildin'.

  Then we kin holler an' ya-hoo t'each other when t'wind is right."

  It was an amusing idea for a circus day.

  It was fun being with Fanny when she was happy, and I could forget, when laughter and happiness spun all around me, all that had gone before. It wasn't Fanny's fault that she was what she was, any more than it had been Troy's fault that he'd been what he was. And maybe there were excuses to be made even for Tony, if I would let myself forgive him—but he had robbed me of Troy. To show Grandpa the time of his life gave me great joy. Again and again he told me how much fun he and Annie were having.

  "But we don't wanna wear her out," he warned around dusk, when the lights came on, and even larger crowds flocked in to mingle with the others. His bent legs began to falter, and soon his steps became a mere shuffle, and he began to pant breathlessly.

  We were late when we reached the platform where Pa would have been giving his spiel. Already the main tent was packed, but Tom had sent us tickets, and in the nick of time the three of us made our way to three of the best seats under the main tent. Just as we sat, the band struck up a bright and lively tune, and soon, from between curtains that were drawn wide open, out of the wings and into view paraded a short row of Indian elephants in gaudy costumes, with pretty girls riding on their backs. Grandpa puffed out his chest when he saw Pa strutting center ring with his microphone, his voice cutting through the music as he introduced each animal and rider, and telling of the wonders yet to come.

  "That's my Luke," shouted Grandpa, nudging Race McGee, who sat next to him. "Ain't he a good-lookin' man, ain't he though?"

  "He sure don't take afta ya, Toby," answered a man who had gambled many a possession away playing poker with Pa.

  By the time the show was half over, Grandpa was at such a pitch of excitement I feared he wouldn't live long enough to see the end. Fanny was almost as bad. She squealed, screamed, applauded, and from time to time she jumped up and down so much her bosom almost fell out of her low neckline. I wished to God she knew how to sit still and not make such a show of herself, but a show was what Fanny wanted to make. And she succeeded.

  When the big cats slunk into the center ring to do their stunts to the command of the lion tamer I began to get nervous. I didn't enjoy the act. The big cats, made to do silly things like sitting on pedestals, embarrassed me. I kept looking for Tom and didn't see him. I wished the clowns would go away, they kept blocking my -view with their foolishness, distracting me from what I most wanted to see.

  And then I saw Logan.

  He wasn't even watching the lion act; he was staring across ten feet of bleacher benches loaded with people, gazing at me with the worst glowering frown.

  The moment our eyes met he hid that expression and briefly saluted. Seated next to him was the prettiest auburn-haired girl I'd ever seen. It took me four or five glances to recognize his companion as Maisie Setterton, Kitty's younger sister. Oh, oh, he was seeing her a great deal.

  "Heard tell Logan's got himself engaged t'Maisie," whispered Fanny hatefully, as if she could read my thoughts. "Kin't see what he sees in her. Neva could stand natural redheads wid their pale skins that splotch so easily, an' neva heard of no redhead who wasn't loud-mouthed an' mean, even fake ones."

  "Your mother was one," I absently answered.

  "Yeah," mumbled Fanny.

  Again she smiled over to where Logan sat next to Maisie, and her flirting smile quickly changed into a sharp look of anger. "Look at that Logan, actin' like he don't even see me, when he does, when he'd have ta! Why I wouldn't marry up wid no stuffy, serious no-fun man like Logan Stonewall iffen he were t'ask me on his bended knee, an' there weren't no otha men left alive on this whole earth but Race McGee." And here she laughed right in Race McGee's livid, fat face.

  Soon all the acts were over, and still we hadn't seen Tom, only Pa. The crowd began to thin out, and Grandpa, Fanny, and I made our careful way to where Tom had told us he'd be waiting, but I didn't see him there. Only a tall, thin clown in an outlandish costume stood near the tent where the stars of the circus dressed. I stumbled over one of his huge, green shoes with yellow polka dots and red bows to tie them on.

  "Excuse me," I said, stepping around his size-thirty shoes; then he was tripping me up again, and I whirled to snap at him. "Why don't you keep your feet out of my way?" That's when I saw his green eyes.

  "Tom . . . is that you?"

  "Why, who else is so clumsy, with feet so big?"

  he asked, pulling off his wild red wig and smiling at me. "You really look great, Heavenly! You really do!—but I wouldn't have known you if you hadn't told me about being blond."

  "And what about me?" yelled Fanny, flinging herself at him. "Ain't ya got no sweet talk fer me, yer favorite sista?"

  "Why Fanny, you're exactly as I knew you always would be, hotter than a firecracker!"

  She liked that.

  Fanny was in a wonderful mood. She pouted to hear Pa had already gone back to the hotel where his wife and son were staying and hadn't waited to see us.

  In a small tent chamber that reeked of rancid makeup and powder and greasepaint, Tom removed his makeup and changed into street clothes, while Fanny regaled all of us with stories I'd not heard as yet.

  "Ya gotta come an' see my place!" she said several times. "Tom, ya gotta make Pa come, too. An'

  his wife an' little boy as well. It ain't no good havin' a pretty new house wid a swimmin' pool an' everythin'

  brand new an modern if nobody that's family don't come t' see it."

  "I'm beat, really beat," said Tom, trying to smother a yawn, even IS-he assisted Grandpa to his feet. "And just because the show is over doesn't mean all the work is done. All this ground litter has to be cleaned up. All the concession stands have to be scrubbed down to pass health inspections. The animals perform half-hungry, so they'll want to eat.

  The performers themselves have to unwind, and I'm in charge of most of that . . . so I'll be seeing you tomorrow, and maybe then I can look at your new house, Fanny. But why the heck would you want to buy a house here?"

  "Had me my reasons," Fanny replied sulkily.

  "An iffen ya don't come with us t'night, it's gonna tell me like a punch in t'face, that Heaven is t'only one who counts in yer life . . . an' I'll hate ya, Tom, hate ya fereva, if ya do that t'me."

  Tom went along with us. Fanny's new, contemporary-styled home sat high on a hillside, directly across from the mountain where the log cabin was; however, the valley was too vast to look across, though when you hollered down into a valley, it carried far, far.

  "Gonna live here all by myself!" stated Fanny emphatically. "Not gonna have no husband, no live-in lover, an' no boss of no kind. I'm not eva gonna let myself fall in love—I'll just make 'em love me—an'

  when I get tired of 'em—out they go. Just before I'm forty I'll snag me some rich fella an' keep him around fer a companion."

  Fanny had her life plan well worked out, which was more than I could say for myself. Two Great Danes were soon freed so they could romp and play with Fanny, who had never really liked any kind of animal. "Gotta have vicious dogs like this now that everybody knows my ex sends me a bundle each month," she explained. "Every blasted man I hire is out to skin me!"

  "Who would have ever thought Fanny Casteel would wind up living in something like this?" Tom said, as if to himself. "Heavenly, is this anywhere near as grand as Farthinggale Manor?"

  What could I say without hurting Fanny's feelings? No, all of Fanny's house could have been fit into one wing of Farthingga
le Manor. And yet, this was a house to live in, to feel cozy in, to know every nook and cranny of.

  I sauntered around, looking with interest at all the photographs hung on her walls. I stared to see Fanny at some beach with Cal Dennison! When my eyes swung to confront hers, she smiled wickedly.

  "Jealous, Heaven? He's mine now, anytime I want him, an' he's not so bad, 'cept when he's around his parents, then he's got no spine at all. Sooner or later I'll brush him off when he bores me one too many times."

  By this time I was exceptionally tired. I wished, and not for the first time, that I hadn't let Fanny persuade me to come here.

  Yawning, I stood up to go, and that's when I found out the real reason why Fanny had returned to the Willies to live. "I see Waysie every once in a while," she unexpectedly threw into our conversation.

  "He said he'd be more than appreciative iffen I'd let him come fer visits once a week or so. An' he's gonna bring my lit Darcy t'see me. I've already seen her twice. An' she's so pretty. Of course sooner or later everybody in Winnerrow will find out jus' what's goin on . . . an' that's when have my revenge. Ole lady Wise is gonna cry through many a night, many a night."

  Not for the-first time I felt an overwhelming dislike for Fanny flood through me. She didn't want Waysie. She didn't really want Darcy. She just wanted revenge. I felt like slapping some sense into her. But Fanny was so drunk she fell when she lost her balance, and when I strode out of her house, she was screaming that she'd get even with me for all I'd done to rob her of self-esteem. And there she was at age twenty, once married and once divorced, hating me because no man had ever loved her enough . . . not even her own pa.

  I guess Fanny and I had that in common.

  Caught in some deep compulsion, the very next night I went again to the circus, this time dressed in the filmy white dress I had cleaned and ironed so carefully. This time I went alone, without Grandpa and Fanny. Once more I sat amidst the hot, sweaty crowd that had come to see their "hometown hero"—

  Luke Casteel, the new owner, the mesmerizing barker.

  Only tonight was a bit different. This time Pa's pretty young wife Stacie was there, nervously wringing her hands when Pa strode into the arena, spieling out his long introductory speech without hesitation or flaw.

  So why was she nervous? He was a magnificent and powerful man, radiating sensuality. All about me the women and girls stood up to cheer and yell, and some threw flowers and scarves. I saw my brother Tom, who had aspired to becoming president, reduced to a frolicking clown all because Pa had to have what he wanted, despite what Tom wanted.

  I thought of Our Jane and Keith and Fanny, who had been made into what she was as surely as I'd been molded by fate into what I was. And the words of the good Reverend Wayland Wise came flooding back into my brain: "You carry with you the seeds for your . own destruction, and the destruction of everyone who loves you . . . an idealist of the most fatal kind—the romantic idealist . . born to destroy and self-destruct!"

  As my own mother had!

  Doomed, I felt doomed. Just as Troy had felt.

  Over and over again the good Reverend's words played in my brain, until I felt my planned confrontation with Pa was stupid and wrong and would only end up hurting me. Quickly I stood and blindly made my way out of the stands. It didn't matter that people yelled at me to sit down and stop blocking their view.

  I had to get away. It didn't matter that the lions were running in the center ring cage, quite out of control.

  Pa stood ready with pistol and rifle just outside the cage door that he had unlocked, while inside the cage the lion tamer tried to bring control to cats that weren't paying him any attention. "It's the new lion confusing all of them!" some man yelled. "Tear down the banners! It's the fluttering that makes the new one nervous."

  I should never have come back to the Willies.

  I should have let well enough alone. I paused about ten feet from the cage, wanting to say goodbye to Tom, who was hovering just behind Pa, before I headed back to the cabin where Grandpa was snuggled down with his ghost wife.

  "Tom," I called softly, trying to draw his attention.

  Tom, in his baggy clown costume and

  greasepaint makeup, ran closer to snatch at my arms and hiss, "Don't say anything to Pa, please, please!

  He's taking the guard's place for the first time tonight cause he showed up drunk. Please, Heaven, don't distract Pa."

  But I didn't have to say anything. Or do anything.

  Pa had seen me.

  Me, with the lights overhead shining down on my silvery blond hair, wearing the very dress my mother had worn the first time he'd seen her standing on Peachtree Street—the expensive and frail old white dress with full, fluttery sleeves and skirt. The dress that I had carefully washed and ironed, and lightly starched. The prettiest dress in my summer wardrobe.

  And I had to wear it . . . tonight for the first time. Pa was staring at me, frozen, his dark eyes wide. Step by step he was advancing toward me, away from the lion cage and the tamer who needed his attention.

  Something happened then that took me by total surprise. Into Pa's stunned and astonished eyes jumped a shot of pure exhilarated, disbelieving joy.

  My heart raced in painful response. As I stood there undecided as to what to do, I felt the full, long, white sleeves of my summer dress fluttering upward, caught in some errant evening breeze that blew through the tent opening.

  At last, at last, Pa was glad to see me! It was in his eyes! At last he was going to say he loved me.

  "Angel!" he cried.

  He stepped toward me, arms outstretched; his rifle slipped from his fingers, and the pistol he'd pulled from its sheath fell silently into the sawdust.

  Her!

  It was still my mother he was seeing!

  As it would always be her he saw, never me, never me!

  I turned and ran.

  Breathless and crying, I paused just outside the main arena. Behind me the tumult began. The screams! The roars! The cries of people gone crazy!

  Trained animals gone wild! Now I was frozen. I heard the shots and half turned. My hands fluttered to my forehead and pressed there.

  "What's happened?" I asked two men running out of the tent.

  "The cats have the tamer down on his back and are mauling him. Casteel's attention was averted and they were safe enough t'make their move. Then that stupid clown with the red hair picks up the rifle, pockets the pistol, and enters the cage himself."

  Oh, my God, Tom, Tom!

  The frantic man shoved me out of the way and ran on.

  Someone else picked up the story. "All those crazy cats piled up on the lion tamer, and Luke's son ran braver than any man I ever knew, straight into the cage, trying to save his friend's life. Then Luke saw what was happening and he went in to save his son.

  God knows if anyone will come out of this alive!"

  Oh, my God—my fault, my fault!

  I didn't care about Pa, of course I didn't. Pa deserved anything he got.

  But caring about Tom made me run faster than I had ever run before, tears streaking my face.

  A terrible infection set into the deep claw wounds on Pa's back. Two days passed while I lay on the bed in Grandpa's log cabin, forcing myself to believe that that man in the hospital trying to hold on to his life deserved what he'd gotten, had asked for it long ago when he decided he had to join the circus life.

  Just as Fanny in her new house was setting herself up for a day of reckoning with the town folk who had always despised her; for you couldn't go through life striking out right and left without someday bringing down your own house of cards.

  Tom had been mauled much worse than Pa;

  he'd been first in the cage with only a pistol thrust in his baggy pants, and a rifle that he'd managed to fire once before a cat reached out with a mighty paw and clubbed the gun from his hands. And Pa had rushed in to seize the rifle and kill two of the cats, but not before he was mauled considerably.

  And the
worst of it was, it was Tom who died, not Pa. Tom, Tom, Tom the best of all the Casteels.

  Tom who had loved me. Tom who had been my companion, my other half. Tom who had given me the courage I needed to persevere and to wait for the day when Pa accepted me as his daughter.

  The newspapers made Tom into a hero. They spread his smiling photograph from coast to coast, and the life story that had been Tom's was told for all to read, and somehow, they made it seem brave, not pathetic.

  Only when I knew that Pa would live did I have the courage to break the news to Grandpa about what had happened to Tom. Grandpa couldn't read newspapers, and Grandpa didn't like colorful news broadcasts when he could listen all day to weather reports on the radio while he whittled. His knobby old hands paused, then loosened their grip on the tiny elephant he was carving to complete the jungle chess set he'd started long ago at Logan's request.

  "My Luke is gonna live, ain't he, Heaven girl?"

  he asked when I finished. "We kin't let Annie suffa anotha loss."

  "I called the hospital, Grandpa; he's off the critical list now, and we can go to see him."

  "Ya didn't tell me, Heaven chile, did ya, that Tom is gone? Tom kain't die when he's only twenty-one . . Oh, I neva did have much luck in keepin' my boys around me."

  In the hospital I allowed Grandpa to go alone into the small room where Pa lay completely swathed in bandages from head to foot, peering through one tiny eyehole. Shaken, I went to lean against a wall. I cried, cried for so many things that could have turned out differently. I felt so alone, so terribly alone. Who would love me now, who? And almost as if God heard my question, arms tenderly slipped around my waist, and I was pulled backward against a strong chest, and someone's head pressed down on mine.

  "Don't cry, Heaven," crooned Logan, turning me around to take me into his arms. "Your father is going to live. He's a fighter. He's got a lot to live for—his wife, his son, and you. He's tough. Always has been. But he's not going to be so handsome anymore."

  "Tom is dead, don't you know that? Tom is dead, Logan, dead!"