Fallen Hearts (Casteel Series #3)

by V. C. Andrews

  I told him the truth and he listened without a word of judgment. He didn't tell me that I had done the same thing to Fanny that Tony had done to Luke, he didn't chastise me. He only smiled and said, "Well, I'll just have to work that much harder to make the Willies factory a huge success and pay all that money back to Tony, so we'll never owe him anything again."

  I embraced him and gave him a hundred kisses for being the best husband in the world.

  We went about our lives, hearing stories about Fanny from time to time, the things she bought, the people she associated with. Occasionally, she came around to see Drake. He was always very polite to her, but I could see he was afraid she would try to take him away again. Every time she came and left, I reassured him that wouldn't happen.

  The winter flew by, and one day spring burst forth in all its glory. It was as if God had unwrapped a gift of flowers and green grass and warm blue-sky days. The whispering in the leaves, the songs of the wind in the grass, the wild flowers that scented the air with sweet perfume filled us with hope and made the days of sadness retreat with the chill of winter.

  Sunlight was everywhere.

  Appleberry pruned and planted and our home blossomed like a great flower itself. Drake's melancholy moods thinned until they were hardly ever there, although once in a while he would become pensive and thoughtful and wonder about his mother and father.

  The factory got off to a wonderful start. Logan surprised me with his insight into marketing. He traveled all over the country, setting up outlets, finding markets. It wasn't long before he was expanding the work force at the factory, and people in Winnerow were even prouder of the enterprise.

  One morning, just after breakfast, the phone rang and I answered it. "Ya'll betta get ya husband right ova here," Fanny crooned. "Ma water done broke."

  "Who is it?" Logan asked.

  "It's Fanny," I said. "You'd better warm up the car. Her water just broke and she needs someone to take her to the hospital."

  "Heaven, I can't leave you now. You're expecting any minute, too," he said. He tried to take the phone out of my hand, but I covered the receiver with my palm.

  "Darling, despite all Fanny has done, she is my sister and she has no one else."

  "All right," Logan finally agreed, "but you're coming with me. I don't want you left alone with only the servants to rush you to the hospital. Besides," he said, grinning, "all those hours in that Lamaze class would be wasted. . . get your suitcase. You tell Mr.

  Appleberry to watch Drake. He always thinks it's a party when Mr. Appleberry plays with him."

  "We'll be right over," I told Fanny.

  "Well, ya better be, 'cause I'm about to pop any minute now. An I ain't gonna have ma baby en route.

  Ya tell Logan ta get here quick, ya hear?"

  Fanny was waiting for us on her front porch with two gigantic suitcases.

  "Ya put them in the trunk, Logan," Fanny said, spying me through the window. "Hey, Heaven, ya come to see how it's done?"

  Logan was struggling with the suitcase. "Fanny, what on earth do you have in here?"

  "All ma clothes and new slippers and . .Ya'll expect me to dress common now that I got me all this money?" Fanny said. Then she winced and grabbed hold of Logan's arm. "We betta hurry," she stammered.

  Logan sped to the hospital and pulled into the lane where the ambulances normally pull in. Fanny was yelling and carrying on in the backseat.

  "I'm gonna die from the pain!" she screamed.

  "I'm gonna die! Get me some of those knock-out drugs quick! I wanna be put ta sleep!"

  A couple of orderlies brought a gurney out and laid Fanny on top of it, covering her with a white sheet. She was still screaming when the automatic doors burst open and they rushed her down the corridor.

  "Give me somethin' to put me ta sleep!"

  Logan turned to me, putting his arm around me.

  "How are you doing, darling?"

  "I don't think my coming along with you and Fanny was a wasted trip," I said, smiling.

  "What?!" Logan stammered.

  "The baby's on its way," I said.

  "Oh, my God, I'll run and get a stretcher. I'll--"

  "I don't think that will be necessary," I said, laughing. "I can walk just fine."

  Logan paced back and forth, back and forth, as we waited for a labor room. The contractions had begun, but the pain wasn't bad, not bad at all.

  Sometime many hours later, with my sweet Logan at my side, counting my breathing and the minutes between my now painful contractions, the nurse came in to tell us that Fanny had given birth to a little boy.

  Early in the evening my own baby came into the world, screaming with two healthy lungs.

  "It's a girl!" the doctor said.

  A nurse quickly cleaned her and wrapped her up and laid her carefully on my chest. I folded down the blanket. She had my cornflower blue eyes, but dark brown hair, Troy's hair, hair that even curled at the back like his did. I gently counted her toes and fingers, and saw that her tiny fingers were shaped like Troy's, Tatterton fingers, fingers that might one day craft miniature people and houses. Logan didn't seem to notice any of that. He was so thrilled and taken with our child.

  "Would you like to hold her, Logan?" I asked.

  "I'm afraid I might break her, she's so small," he said.

  "Darling, you're the gentlest man I know.

  Here's your daughter," I said, lifting her to him.

  He carefully cradled the baby's head and drew the bundle to his chest. "Heaven," he said, staring enchanted into the infant's face, "all my life I thought you were the most beautiful girl on earth, but now I know our love has created a child even more beautiful."

  "Logan, I'd like to call her Annie, after my Granny."

  "Annie," Logan whispered to his daughter. She burst into furious screams.

  We both started to laugh. "I guess she knows her name," Logan said, handing me my beautiful baby.

  Soon the nurse came to insist that Logan go home to get some rest and let me rest. She took the baby into the nursery and I slept for a few hours. I dreamed of my baby, of Logan and of Troy, and awoke with Annie's name on my lips. Oh, I was certain, I just knew she was Troy's baby, and I vowed Logan would never know—her love for him, and my love for him, would make it all up to him.

  I painfully scooted myself out of bed and

  slowly walked down the hall to the glassed-in nursery.

  A raucous voice greeted me from the end of the hall.

  "Well, looky who's finally up and about."

  Fanny was sitting in a wheelchair being pushed by a private nurse.

  "Which one's your little boy?" I asked.

  "Luke? I named him after Pa. Luke's there, the handsomest one in the row," she said. I could see her filled with genuine love and pride.

  "He is a beautiful baby," I agreed.

  "I knew ya would think so, Heaven. Ya married his fatha and he looks just like 'im. Where's yer little girl?"

  I pointed out Annie She was howling.

  "Are ya sure, Heaven? Why, she don't look like no one around here."

  That sent a chill through me. Fanny could never know, never suspect the truth. I pasted a smile on my face. "Why, Fanny," I teased her, "with her wailing like that, she looks a little like you did last night."

  Even Fanny had to laugh.

  "I'll be seein' ya, sista," she said. Then she had her nurse push her back to her room. "An' don't go too fast! I wanna peek inta all the rooms," Fanny instructed her. "It's just like General Hospital in here."

  Ten days after we brought Annie home, I was upstairs in my bed nursing her when Logan arrived from the factory. He was so excited about our child that he would often leave the factory to make what he called "baby visits." He would rush in, hold the baby in his arms or watch her sleep for a while, and then go back to the factory.

  This particular afternoon when he came

  upstairs, he carried a box in his arms. It was marked FRAGILE.

  "
What is it?" I asked, shifting the baby in my arm so I could sit up straighter.

  "I don't know," Logan said. "It was just delivered." He opened it and carefully lifted out its contents, placing it at my side on the bed.

  It was a perfectly rendered miniature of Troy's cottage. Everything was there, even the maze behind it.

  "Well, I'll be darned," Logan said. "Look at this. The roof lifts off."

  He removed it and tinkling chimes played

  Troy's favorite Chopin prelude. Within the cottage a man who looked just like Troy rested on the floor, his hands behind his head. At his side sat a girl who looked very much like me when I had first come to Farthy. Everything was just as it had been: the tiny furniture, tiny dishes, even tiny tools to make toys.

  Only Troy could have made this Only Troy. He knew. He knew she was his. And he wanted me to know he knew. This was his way of telling me, his way of claiming his daughter. Oh, Troy, how I wished things could have been different. And she was perfect!

  So perfect!

  "I don't see a card," Logan broke into my reverie. "Isn't that silly? One of our craftsmen made you this amazing present and forgot to put in a card.

  How can we thank him? I'll have to have some of my men see if they can find out who made this. It's spectacular, isn't it, Heaven? Such attention to detail.

  I'll bet," Logan said suddenly, "that Tony had someone do this. Maybe it's his way of apologizing, huh?"

  "Yes," I whispered. I could barely talk, so overwhelmed was I by this token of Troy's forever abiding love. Logan thought it was because I was so taken with the beauty of the gift. "Could you put Annie back in her crib?" I whispered hoarsely.

  "Sure," he said.

  He took the baby from my arms and placed her gently in her crib. "I'll take this downstairs," he said, reaching for the tiny cottage.

  "No, that's all right, Logan. Leave it. I want to look at it for a while."

  "Sure. Well, I've got to get back to the factory.

  I'll talk to you later, okay?"

  "Okay."

  He kissed me on the cheek and rushed out.

  Again I opened the roof and the magical

  tinkling music filled the room. A cloud that had been blocking the sun moved off and the warm light came streaming through the window to caress the tiny cottage.

  The door to one of the closets of my memory opened and once again I heard the soft piano notes.

  The melody grew louder and then seemed to get caught up in the breeze that made the curtains on my bedroom window dance lightly against the glass. I looked out at the blue sky as if I could see the music find its way home, and then I put the roof back on the cottage.

  I would put the toy on a shelf in Annie's room until one day, many years from now, I would tell her what this cottage meant. I was sure that when I did, she would understand why I had to do as I've done.

  Because I would always tell her the truth, the truth that was me. And the truth always heals.

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