"I thought the same thing myself, until I helped deliver this one. Don't you tell a soul, please, for it would hurt Sarah if others knew—but this last baby didn't have any genitals."
She paled. "Oh . . . I'm so sorry to have been so tactless. I did hear a few rumors, but I try never to listen to them. Of course nature sometimes creates oddities. Since all your father's children are so beautiful, I naturally presumed your mother would have another perfect child."
"Miss Deale, it's a wonder you haven't heard about me. Sarah is not my mother. My father has been married twice. I am his first wife's child."
"I know," she whispered in a low voice. "I've heard about your father's first wife, and how lovely she was, and how young when she died." She blushed and looked uncomfortable, then began to pick invisible lint from her expensive knit suit. "I presumed you love your stepmother very much, and like to pretend she is your mother."
"Used to like doing that." I smiled. "I've got to run along now, or else Logan will be walking another girl home. Thank you, Miss Deale, for being a good friend; for growing with us in school; for making Tom and me feel good about ourselves. Why, Tom and I said just this morning, school would sure be a bore without our wonderful Miss Deale."
Chuckling and tearfully smiling, she touched my hand and excused me with: "You're prettier each time I see you. Heaven—but set your goals now.
Don't give them up just to become another girl who rushes into marriage too soon."
"Don't you worry that I'll not head for my goals!" I sang out, backing toward the door. "It'll be a rare fine day when I'm thirty before I go into some man's kitchen to bake his biscuits and wash his dirty clothes—and have his babies once a year!" And out of the classroom I ran, hurrying to where I thought Logan would be waiting.
This particular day in the valley was sunny, mild, with fat white clouds heading for London, Paris, and Rome as I ran to where six or seven boys clustered in a tight gang, yelling.
"Yer a sissy city boy!" one bully called Randy Mark yelled at a filthy, dirty boy who I gasped to see was Logan! Oh, they'd finally gotten him—and he'd said they never would. There he was on the ground, wrestling with another boy his age. Already Logan's shirt sleeve was torn, his jaw red and puffy, and his hair fell over his forehead.
"Heaven Casteel is just another whore in t'makin like her sister—even if she won't let us, she lets you!"
"She does not!" roared Logan, red-faced and so angry he seemed to give off smoke even as he managed to snatch a good leg lock on Randy before he twisted that leg ruthlessly. "You take back everything nasty you said about Heaven! She's the most honorable, decent girl I've met in my whole life!"
"Cause ya don't know rotten apples from good!" screamed another boy.
Who had started this, and what had been said? I glanced around to see one of the girls in my class who always laughed at my shabby clothes, and she was grinning slyly. I ran to where Tom crouched, ready to jump into the fight. "Tom," I cried, "why don't you help Logan?"
"I would if it wouldn't convince all the others he doesn't know how to fight. Heavenly, Logan's gotta do this himself, or he'll never live it down that I had to help."
"But hill boys don't fight fair, you know that!"
"Don't matter. He's gotta do it their way, or forever be picked on."
Fanny was jumping up and down, terribly
excited, as if Logan were fighting for her honor, not mine. Keith pulled Our Jane over to the swings and began to push her back and forth so she wouldn't cry to see one of her friends hurt. How sensitive Keith was, I had time to think before I looked back at the pair on the ground.
It was awful to stand there and watch those boys take on Logan one after the other, not giving him time to catch his breath before a new boy jumped into the dirt ring they'd drawn and began throwing blows.
By this time Logan was bloody, his face bruised and swollen, and his left eye was all but closed. I clutched at Tom, almost crying. "Tom, you have to help him now!"
"No . . hang on . . . he's doing fine."
How could he say that when Logan looked ten times worse than any of the others? "They're killing him, and you say he's doing fine!"
"They're not gonna kill him, silly. They're just testin t'see if he's got what it takes."
"WHAT DOES IT TAKE?" I yelled, ready to pitch in myself and help, but Tom caught and held me.
"Don't you dare shame him by helpin," he whispered urgently. "As long as he keeps slingin blows an fightin back, they'll respect him. Once you or I help, it's all over for him."
As I stood there and watched, cringing every time Logan was hit, and yelling savagely every time he delivered a blow, he quickly glanced my way, dodged the next blow, and delivered a swift uppercut.
I screamed encouragement, feeling as vicious as any girl there.
Now Logan was on top, and the boy underneath was screaming. "Now apologize . . . take back what you said about my girl!" ordered Logan.
"Yer girl's a Casteel . . . ain't none of em no good!"
"Take it back, what you said, or I'll break your arm." Logan gave that arm a vicious twist. The boy beneath him yelled for mercy. "I take it back."
"Apologize to her. While she's here and can hear."
"Ya ain't like yer sister Fanny!" screamed a boy about to have his arm broken. "But she's sure gonna be one damned whore, t'whole town knows it!"
Fanny ran to give him several hard kicks while all the others laughed. Only then did Logan release the boy's arm, turning him over before he slammed his fist into the boy's jaw. Instantly everyone stopped yelling and stared down at the unconscious face as Logan stood up, brushed off his clothes, and glared at everyone there but Tom and me.
Funny how they all disappeared, leaving me, Tom, and Fanny standing together as Keith and Our Jane continued to use the yard swings and paid no attention to the fight. Tom ran to pound Logan on the back. "Boy, buddy, you were great, really great! You threw that right hook just perfect. Timed your leg twist just right. . . couldn't have done it better myself."
"Thanks for giving me the lessons," murmured Logan, looking dazed and terribly exhausted. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going into the school and wash up. If I went home looking like this, my mom would faint." He smiled my way. "Heaven, hang around, will you, until I'm back?"
"Sure." I stared at all his bruises, and his black eye. "Thanks for defending my honor . . ."
"Why, he defended all our honors, dummy!"
shrieked Fanny. Then, so help me, she ran to throw her arms about Logan and kissed him squarely on his swollen, bleeding lips.
I should have done that.
Logan walked off toward the school as Tom
grabbed Fanny's arm, called Our Jane and Keith, and all of them headed for our trail. All alone in the schoolyard I waited for Logan to come out of the boys' rest room.
On the swing Our Jane had used I shoved
myself higher and higher, hanging back and dangling so my hair would fan and almost sweep the ground. I hadn't felt so happy since before Granny died. I closed my eyes and flew ever higher on the swing.
"Hey . . . you up there in the sky, come on down so I can walk you home before dark, and we can talk."
Logan looked somewhat cleaner, somewhat less damaged, as I dragged my feet and brought the swing to a stop. "You're not really hurt, are you?" I asked with concern.
"No, not really hurt." His one eye peered at me.
"Do you really care if I am?"
"Of course I care."
"Why?"
"Well . . . I don't know why, except, well, you did call me your girl. Am I your girl, Logan?"
"If I said so, then you must be. Unless you have some objections."
I was up now, and he had my hand, gently
urging me toward the mountain trail that spiraled steeply up, up, up.
Winnerrow had only one main street, and all the others branched off from that. Even placed in the middle of town, the school backed up to the mountain range. The
re wasn't any way the town could escape the surrounding Willies. "You haven't answered,"
urged Logan when we'd strolled on for fifteen minutes without speaking, only holding hands and glancing often at one another.
"Where'd you go last weekend?"
"My parents wanted to see the college where I'll be going. I wanted to call and tell you, but you have no telephone, and I didn't have time to walk to your place."
There it was again. His parents didn't want him to see me, or he could have found time. I turned and put my arms about his waist and pressed my forehead against his dirty torn shirt. "I'm thrilled to be your girl, but I've got to warn you now, I don't intend to get married until I've had the chance to live and grow on my own, and to become somebody. I want my name to mean something after I'm dead."
"Looking for immortality?" he teased, holding me closer and bowing his face into my hair.
"Something like that. You see, Logan, a psychiatrist came to our class one day and he said there are three kinds of people. One, those who serve others. Two, those who give to the world by producing those who serve others. Three, the last kind, those who can't be satisfied unless they achieve on their own, not by serving others but by their own merits and talents, producing, arid not through their children, either. I'm the third kind. There's a niche in this world meant for me and what innate talents I have
. . . and I won't find it if I marry young."
He cleared his throat. "Heaven, aren't you getting way ahead of this situation? I'm not asking you to be my wife, just my girl."
I drew sharply away. "Then you don't really want to marry me someday?"
His hand spread helplessly. "Heaven, can we predict the future and who we'll want when we're twenty, twenty-five, or thirty? Take what I offer now, and let the future take care of itself."
"What are you offering now?" I asked suspiciously.
"Just me, my friendship. Just me, and the now-and-then right to kiss you, hold your hand, touch your hair, and take you to the movies, and listen to your dreams because you listen to mine, and be silly once in a while, build a past we'll enjoy remembering—that's all." That was enough.
Hand in hand we continued to stroll, and it was sweet to reach the cabin near twilight that flattered the tiny house nestled on the hillside. He had only one good eye anyway, and I knew he couldn't truly see the shoddiness of how we lived until he went inside.
I turned and cupped his face between my
palms. "Logan, would it be all right, and not too much like Fanny, if I kissed you just once for being so exactly what I want?"
"I think I could bear up."
Slowly my arms slid up around his neck—how awful his eye looked now that we were inches apart—
I closed my eyes and puckered my lips, and kissed that swollen eye, his cut cheek, and finally his lips. He was trembling by this time. So was I.
I was scared to say another word, so afraid realities would spoil the sweetness of what we had.
"Good night, Logan. See you tomorrow."
"Good night, Heaven," he whispered, as if he'd lost his voice. "Sure has been a great day, sure has been . . ."
In that part of the day Granny used to call the gloaming I watched until Logan was out of sight, disappearing into darkness, before I turned away and entered the cabin that immediately depressed my soaring spirits. Sarah had stopped making any attempt to keep the cabin clean, or even tidy. Meals that had been adequate before had become haphazard affairs of bread and gravy without greens or vegetables, and seldom did we have chicken or ham anymore. Slab bacon was a memory food better not to think about.
Our garden out back where Granny and I had spent so much time pulling weeds and planting seeds was neglected. Ripe vegetables were left to rot in or on the ground. No salt pork or ham was in the smokehouse to flavor our bean soup or collard greens, spinach, or turnips, now that Pa never came home. Our Jane was in a finicky mood, refusing to eat or throwing up what she did, and Keith cried constantly because he never had enough to eat, and Fanny did nothing but complain.
"Somebody but me should do something!" I yelled, turning in circles. "Fanny, you go to the well and fill the bucket, and bring it in with water to the brim, not just a few cupfuls, which is your lazy way.
Tom, go to the garden and pull up whatever is there we can eat. Our Jane, stop that wailing! Keith, entertain Our Jane so she'll stay quiet and I can think."
"Don't ya give me orders!" screamed Fanny. "I don't have t'do nothin ya say! Jus cause ya had a boy fight fer ya don't mean yer queen of this hill!"
"Yes, you do have to obey Heaven," backed Tom, who gave Fanny a shove toward the door. "Go to the spring and bring back really good water."
"But it's dark out there!" wailed Fanny. "Ya know I'm skerred of-edark!"
"Okay, I'll fetch the spring water, you pick the vegetables, and stop back-talking . . . or I'll be the king of the hill and give yer bottom ten solid wacks!"
"Heaven," Tom whispered from where he lay on his floor pallet that night looking at me with so much compassion, "someday, I kin feel in my bones, it's all gonna turn out fine for all of us. Ma will go back t'how she was, an start cookin good meals again.
She'll clean up t'house and you won't have so much to do. Pa will come home cured, an nicer to us than before. We'll grow up, graduate from high school, go t'college, be so smart we'll make piles of dough, an we'll ride around in big cars, live in mansions, have servants, an we'll sit an laugh at how tough we thought we had it, never suspecting all this was good fer us. Makes us determined, hardy, better kids than those who have it easy—that's what Miss Deale says, anyway. The best often comes out of t'worst."
"Don't feel sorry for me. I know it's going to be better, someday." I brushed away weak tears.
He crawled over to cuddle in the pallet beside me, his strong young arms feeling good, warm, safe.
"I kin hunt up Pa, an you talk to Ma."
"Ma," I said the very next evening, hoping to cheer her with casual talk before I got down to serious matters, "only a few short hours ago I thought I had fallen in love."
"Yer a damned fool if ya do," muttered Sarah, glancing at my figure, which was definitely taking on a woman's shape. "Ya git offen this mountain—git far from here before ya let some man put his kid in ya,"
she warned. "Ya run fast an ya run far before ya become what I am."
Distressed, I threw my arms about Sarah. "Ma, don't say things like that. Pa'll come home soon, and he'll bring all the food we need. He always comes home before we're really hungry."
"Yeah, sure he does." Sarah's expression turned ugly. "In the nick of time our dear Luke comes back from whorin an boozin, an he throws his bags on the table like he's bringin us solid gold. An that's all he does fer us, ain't it?"
"Ma . . ."
"I AIN'T YER MA!" yelled Sarah, red-faced and looking ill. "Never was! Where's all t'brains ya think ya got? Kin't ya see ya don't look like me?"
She stood with bare feet braced wide, her long red hair in complete disarray, not washed since the baby was born dead, not combed or brushed either, nor had Sarah bathed in more than a month. "I'm gettin out of this hellhole, an if ya got any brains at all, ya'll run soon afta."
"Ma, please don't go!" I cried out in desperation, trying to catch hold of her hands. "Even if you aren't my real ma, I love you, I do! I always have! Please don't go and leave us here alone! How can we go to school and leave Grandpa? He doesn't walk as well as he did when Granny was alive. He can't chop wood anymore. He can hardly do anything.
Please, Ma."
"Tom kin chop t'wood," she said with deadly calm, as if she'd decided to leave, no matter what happened to us.
"But Tom has to go to school, and it takes more than one to chop enough wood and kindling to last through the entire winter, and Pa is gone."
"Ya'll get by. Don't we always?"
"Ma, you can't just up and leave!"
"I kin do anythin I damn well please—will serve Luke right!"
&nb
sp; Fanny heard and came running. "Ma, take me with you, please, please!"
Sarah shoved Fanny away, backed off to stare at us all with calm indifference. Who was this dead-faced woman who didn't care? She wasn't the mother I'd always known. "Good night," she said at the curtain that was her bedroom door. "Yer Pa'll come when ya need him. Don't he always?"
Maybe it was the fruit in the middle of the table that tickled my nostrils and made me come awake.
Why, look at all that food stacked there. Where had it come from, when last night our cupboard had been bare? I picked up an apple and bit it as I went to call Sarah and tell her that Pa had come home during the night and brought us food. In the doorway, holding back the flimsy curtain, I froze, my teeth deep into the red apple, my eyes wide and shocked . . . no Sarah. Just a rumpled bed with a note left on the mattress.
During the night while we slept, Sarah must have slipped out into the dark, leaving a note we were supposed to pass on to Pa when he returned—if ever he returned.
I shook Tom awake to show him the note. He sat up and rubbed at his eyes, and read it over three times before comprehension dawned. He choked, tried not to cry. He and I were both fourteen now.
Birthdays came and went without parties or any kind of celebrations to mark our years.
"What y'all doin up so early?" grumbled Fanny, grouchy as she always was when she came out of sleep and found her bones stiff from hard floorboards and not enough padding between her skeleton and the floor. "I don't smell no biscuits bakin, no bacon fryin .
. . see no gravy in t'pan."
"Ma's gone," I said in a small voice.
"Ma wouldn't do that," said Fanny, sitting up and looking around. "She's in t'outhouse."
"Ma don't leave notes to Pa when she does that," Tom reasoned. "All her things are gone—what little she had."
"But t'food, t'food, I see food on t'table!"
screeched Fanny, jumping up and running to grab a banana. "Bet ya Pa came back an brought all this here stuff . . . an he an Ma are out somewhere fightin."
When I gave it more thought, it seemed very likely that Pa had slipped into the cabin at night, left the food, then drove off without a word to anyone; and perhaps finding the food there, and knowing Pa hadn't bothered to stay or even greet her, had given Sarah the final motivation to leave, thinking now we had food to provide for us until he came back again.
Heaven (Casteel Series #1) Page 10
