Fallen Hearts (Casteel Series #3)

by V. C. Andrews

  . a business partner and nothing more. Never again will I think of him as my father, nor should you think of him as your father-in-law. I'm turning away from that part of my life, closing the curtain on that drama."

  Logan kept holding me tight, stroking my hair, and gazing tenderly in my eyes. "Logan, we can build our lives here, far away from Farthy and the past.

  Forget about the factory, forget everything that has anything to do with Tony Tatterton. We can build Stonewall pharmacies into a wonderful empire, all by ourselves. We'll have our baby soon and Drake will be just like your son."

  "Heaven," Logan said, letting go of me and sitting up, "I despise Tony more than you can imagine for what he tried to do but—but it's crucial that my personal feelings be laid aside for a time."

  "Logan, I don't understand. We can't have that man in our lives anymore!"

  "We may not want Tony in our lives, but what about the people of Winnerow, what about the people in the Willies? Without the factory, Heaven, all their hopes will die. And," he said, rising to his feet and nervously pacing back and forth, "and without Tony the factory will die."

  "What are you saying, Logan?"

  "I'm saying, Heaven, without Tony's capital all our dreams are over. Everybody's dreams are over."

  "Logan, I thought you would protect me—"

  "I'll handle everything, Heaven. Tony isn't the only one who can play at manipulation." He sat down again, and put his hands gently on my shoulders.

  "I know," he said, "that I haven't been what you had hoped I would be. I know I have let you down in many ways, not the least being not paying enough attention to you and our marriage. But that's all going to change now. I swear it. work hard, but the work will always be second to our love and marriage and our family." He patted me gently on the stomach.

  "Our growing family," he added, smiling. "We'll be together all the time. No more separations, Heaven.

  I'll make you happy forever, darling. I promise."

  "And you must always love and be kind to Drake," I added, fearful that Logan hadn't mentioned him. "He must not be made to suffer for the sins of his father and the sins of other adults."

  "He'll be like my own son. I promise." He held up his hand as if to take an oath.

  "Oh, Logan." I held him tightly, pressing my cheek against his shoulder. He kissed me again and again and stroked my hair softly. My tears felt like warm raindrops. He scooped me up and brought me to our bed, where he kissed me and comforted me until we both grew tired enough to sleep. I fell asleep nestled in his arms, feeling as secure and as protected as a bear cub, and I was no longer afraid of the morning and the new life to come.

  The days that followed were truly days of

  beginning a new life. I was busy almost every moment, relieved that time passed so quickly, that every hour was filled with something important to do and not something trivial merely to fill the time. Two days after we arrived, I brought Drake to the school.

  Technically, he was a week and a half shy of the cutoff date for starting the first grade, but Mr. Meeks was more than eager to make an exception. How different he was from the principal I had known as a student and as a first-year teacher. It was almost as if he had never met me before.

  Within ten minutes Drake was enrolled in the first grade.

  "No problem. No problem at all, Mrs.

  Stonewall," Mr. Meeks repeated when I told him why I was here. "Whenever a child is precocious, we make exception; and, from looking at Drake, I can tell immediately that he is a precocious young man. I'll see to it."

  I couldn't help feeling amused at the change in Mr. Meeks. It was true that exceptions were made, but they were made on the basis of testing, and not on the principal's opinion based only upon his visual obser-vation. Mr. Meeks called in his secretary and had her begin the procedures. Afterward, he escorted me around the school so I could say hello to some of my old colleagues. He then walked me out to the parking lot and opened my car door.

  "And tell Mr. Stonewall," he said, "that Mrs.

  Meeks and myself will be more than happy to attend the opening festivities at the factory."

  "Thank you," I said, marveling to myself all the way home. Logan had become quite a manipulator.

  I returned to the Hasbrouck House to greet Mrs.

  Avery, the fifty-year-old woman who had been Anthony Hasbrouck's maid for over twenty years. I thought she had a kind, soft face and saw no reason not to keep her on. Logan had an employment agency send over a candidate to be our butler, Gerald Wilson.

  He was a tall, graying man in his late fifties, a little stiff and formal, reminding me of Curtis, but I saw no reason not to hire him. The next day our cook arrived.

  I couldn't help but think that Logan was modeling all his employees after Tony's employees, for the cook was a black man, who I was sure was much older than he claimed to be. His name was Roland Star and he had teeth as white as piano keys and a laugh that was musical.

  After our house was staffed, I went to an

  interior decorator and began planning some changes for the dining room, the sitting room, the guest room, and our bedroom. The nursery was nearly completed and there was nothing I wanted to change in the kitchen. All the things I had bought in Boston had arrived, and within two weeks my new home, my first real home, was complete.

  As I walked from room to room that day,

  surveying all I had created, all I felt I had earned by my suffering, I realized there was still one remnant of the past lingering to be changed. After I dropped Drake off at school that day, I proceeded directly to the local beauty parlor, run by none other than Maisie Setterton, She looked shocked to see me there, but soon enough she had rearranged her attitude to one of fawning attention.

  "Why, Heaven," she drawled. "I'm so flattered you'd come to my beauty parlor, what with all your newfound wealth. You'd really let a country girl like me do your hair?"

  "I want to go back to my natural color, Maisie,"

  I said, cutting her off. "And this is the only beauty parlor in town." That silenced her, and she didn't speak again while she set about mixing and brushing and coloring my hair. I left two hours later—looking very much like the old Heaven Leigh Casteel, now Heaven Leigh Stonewall. Yes, when the people of Winnerow saw me now, they would have to

  remember that poor scum-of-the-hills girl they had looked down upon, and realize that it was she who was revitalizing their town. I no longer wanted to look like a Tatterton. Like Luke's Angel. Like Tony's Leigh. The wrong man had seen her in me. For it wasn't Pa's love I had won by dying my hair to look like her, but Tony's lust. Now that, too, I would put behind me. I would be just who I was, and I would never be ashamed of that again. Pride straigthened my spine as I ran my errands in Winnerow and noticed the eyes that followed my passage.

  I went to the factory site that day to see the finishing touches that were being made. Logan was shocked when he beheld me.

  "Heaven," he breathed. "You dyed your hair back."

  "Yes, Logan." I smiled. "Now all traces of Tatterton are gone and I am pure one hundred percent Stonewall forever more."

  "And more beautiful than ever." He kissed me passionately on the lips. "This is the woman I've always loved. Thank you, Heaven."

  He took me on a tour of the factory, explaining and showing me the smallest details. He made me feel like a queen visiting one of her colonies. As we walked down the hallways and in and out of rooms, the various laborers stopped what they were doing to greet me. Logan led me about, even showing me the men's room. His enthusiasm was contagious, for I found myself growing very excited about all of it. The only part that brought some sadness to my heart was when he introduced me to the ten artisans he had hired to begin making the Willies toys. Two of them were at least as old as Grandpa was when he died.

  Toward the end of the month, documents and information concerning Luke's estate and Drake's trust fund began arriving from J. Arthur Steine. Apparently he had conferred with Tony, and Tony had
told him to go ahead and do whatever I wanted done. The circus and the house were sold rather quickly, which J.

  Arthur Steine didn't hesitate to brag about.

  The first night Roland Star was at the

  Hasbrouck House to cook a meal, Logan invited his parents. I was amused by the changes in Loretta Stonewall, especially in the way she now treated me.

  She had prepared for this evening as though she were attending a dinner at the governor's mansion. She had her gray hair penned, her nails done, and had bought an expensive dress. She wore her fur coat and her most expensive diamond necklace and earrings.

  Logan's father looked troubled and embarrassed by his wife's extravagance. I could almost hear their argument about it—after all, they were only going to their son's home for dinner. Yes, but what a home and what a dinner!

  I was quite underdressed in comparison, but Logan's mother didn't seem to notice or care. She was too intimidated even to mention the change in my hair color, but she was extravagant with her compliments of everything I had changed in the house. Suddenly, almost overnight, she had become my mother-in-law in more than mere name.

  "You must never be afraid to call me, even for the slightest thing, as your pregnancy develops, Heaven. Why, when I was four months along, I was big as a house. But you look slender and beautiful as ever, Heaven. How do you do it? Are you tired? You know, I'd be more than happy to do all that I can to help with little Drake. What a darling little boy." She reached out to pat him on the head, but Drake would have none of that. He shifted his body out of reach.

  "Anyway, I insist you all come to my house for dinner the night after the factory affair. I know you will all be so tired."

  "Thank you, Loretta," I said.

  "Oh, please, please, Heaven, honey," she said, reaching across the table to place her hand softly over mine, "call me Mother."

  I stared at her for a moment. How many women had I called Mother in my life? One I never knew, one who had been an overworked drudge, one who had resented me, and now one who was so infatuated with her new standing in the community she wanted me the way someone would want an expensive and impressive jewel. She wanted to wear me about her to impress her friends. But I was too tired to resent her for it. I could even understand her excitement, and if money and power had finally made me welcome in her home and in her life, why hate her for it? My husband was happy; my children would be loved, and I would at last have a real family.

  The dinner went well, but after they left, I was once again besieged by memories of my own family.

  My mind played and replayed the scene with Tony. I still didn't know whether or not Tony would show up at the factory celebration, and I felt like a bird trapped in a cage with a cat lurking outside the window.

  I decided to calm my nerves by throwing

  myself into the preparations for the affair, to be so busy that I didn't have time to dwell on unpleasant memories. I helped put together a real Willies shindig.

  The menu would be fried chicken, collards, corn bread, and black-eyed peas. I hired Willies women, famous around the hills for their recipes passed on for six or seven generations. I bought cherry and rhubarb pies, apple and sweet potato, baked in backwoods ovens. I hired the Longchamps, the fiddlin' band that had played at our wedding, and some of the local high school boys and girls to act as waiters and waitresses.

  The only professionals I hired were bartenders from the local taverns; they'd promised to mix me a moonshine punch that would, as one old-timer promised me, "start even the wooden toys to dancin'." We were holding the party on the wide lawn in front of the factory. I called the florist and told her we wanted only local wildflower arrangements. Every night Logan and I chatted on into the late hours, talking about the factory, the employees, and the arrangements for the party. Every once in a while I'd jump up from bed and write down another thing we had forgotten to do. We were like two children planning our first party.

  We had a wonderful fall day for it. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and there was barely a breeze. I had ordered from one of the local seamstresses a traditional Willies gingham dress, complete with lace and rickrack. She had to make it special to accommodate my growing belly. I wore my black hair in braids tied up in ribbons, just the way I had when I was a child of the Willies. This was the day the Willies would be celebrated. This was the day the hill people would be the important people in town. My pregnancy was beginning to show; when I looked at myself in the mirror, I thought even my face looked fuller. I remembered how bloated Sara, Pa's second wife, looked when she was pregnant. Every day her body, and especially her face, seemed to inflate a little more. I even had the funny idea that the baby within her was blowing air and she was filling up like a bicycle tire. I remember how Tom had laughed when I told him.

  I brushed on a little rouge and put on some lipstick.

  "How do I look?" I asked Logan. Logan chose to wear a conservative business suit, but he tied a country bow tie around his neck. He stopped tying his tie and smiled.

  "You look more beautiful than ever. The baby inside you is making you bloom like some brilliant rose."

  "Oh, Logan. You're becoming a super

  salesman," I said to kid him:

  He looked hurt. "I'm not being false to you, Heaven. Never will I ever be false to you. You do look beautiful." He came across the room to kiss me.

  He held me tightly and it felt good to be securely in his arms. "Oh, Heaven," he said, "do you remember when Tony presented us with the Rolls at the wedding party and I said I thought I was the happiest I could ever be? Well, I'm happier now.

  "We don't have Farthy; we don't have a castle and an army of servants and we're not mingling with the bluebloods, but we've got this wonderful home and the chance to build upon our own energies and imaginations, and I think that makes us richer than ever.

  "Especially," he said, holding me out at arm's length, "because we have each other and the blessing of a child to come. Let's put all the unhappiness behind us. Nothing but good things lay ahead."

  "Oh, Logan. I hope you're right," I said, nearly brought to tears by his expression of happiness and contentment. We kissed again, interrupted by Drake's entry.

  "I'm ready," he said. I had left him in his bathroom to brush his own hair. He stood in the doorway and looked in at us. He was dressed in a pair of light gray slacks, a dark gray shirt with a dark blue bow tie and a dark blue sports jacket. I never thought a little boy his age could be so proud of his clothing and how he looked.

  Drake had his hair brushed neatly back and had worked a little wave up front.

  "And so you are," Logan said. "Who is this handsome gentleman, Heaven?"

  "I don't know," I said. "There was a schoolboy here a while ago, who had dirtied himself in the playground. I think he had sand in his hair and small patches of grass growing in his ears. Could this be the same boy?" I smiled, but Drake, so serious and deep-thinking a child, made his eyes smaller.

  "I'm Drake," he said. I could see the anger brighten in the corners of his mouth.

  "Of course you are, honey," I said. "Logan and I were just fooling with you. Come, we'll all go downstairs. We don't want to be late."

  Logan held out his arm to me. "Ready for your day, Heaven." His smile beckoned like a glittering diamond. Little Drake came running.

  Drake had helped us plan special ctivities for the kids—three-legged races, a bean-bag pitch, and apple bobbing. He could barely contain his excitement as we drove to the factory grounds.

  We had two bars set up at either end of the lawn and an enormous tent between them in the rear with tables and chairs. When Drake first saw it, he thought Pa's circus had arrived in Winnerow. The bandstand was draped in red, white, and blue streamers.

  Over the entrance to the factory, we had a large gold banner welcoming people to the opening of the WILLIES TOY FACTORY. It was my idea to leave off the Tatterton name.

  Folks were already dancing and drinking,

  laughing and talking. Sudde
nly, out of the hubbub of old trucks and station wagons pulling into the parking lot, a sleek black limousine with dark smoked windows glided up. My breath caught in my chest.

  There was only one person this could be. The door opened, and a shiny patent-leather shoe emerged, followed by an elegant, tuxedo-clad Tony Tatterton. I desperately looked around for Logan, but he was nowhere to be found. I took a deep breath to steal myself for what was to come, held mynhead high, and stepped forward to greet Tony Tatterton.

  "Mr. Tatterton," I said stiffly as I walked toward him. "We didn't think you would be able to attend." His eyes drank me in.

  "Heaven," he gasped, "your hair!"

  "Do you like it? I braided it myself. It's the height of fashion in the Willies."

  "The color," he stammered.

  "It's my real color, as you know, Mr. Tatterton."

  For a moment he couldn't take his eyes off of my hair, as though he were staring not into a black head of hair but into a black abyss of lost memories. I could tell he was reading the symbolism of my gesture. I no longer wanted to be associated with the Tattertons. Everything he saw in me now was pure Winnerow Casteel. Then he slowly gathered himself together and glanced disapprovingly around. "It's quite a little shindig you and your country boy husband have put together." For a brief moment the insecure little girl in me was chastened by the judgment and scorn I read in his eyes. But I quickly chased her away, and stiffened my spine with pride and glared back at him, smiling as though I owned the world.

  "I noticed you've renamed the factory," he said after an uncomfortable silence that seemed to stretch between us for hours.

  "Logan and I decided that the name Tatterton was inappropriate for this particular factory. May I get you something to drink, Mr. Tatterton?"

  "No, I don't think I'll be staying very long. I don't exactly fit in," he said, running his hand over his silk tie, "do I? Unless of course your husband has a pair of overalls I can borrow." He smiled, and I could tell he was trying to make a joke, but I kept my heart hardened against him.