Heaven (Casteel Series #1)

by V. C. Andrews

  Keeping my eyes closed, I heard them arguing.

  "Why the hell did you put on that black lace nothing nightgown? Isn't that kind of gown your way of letting me know what you want? Kitty, I can't perform with a child in the bed, and between us."

  "Why, of course I don't expect ya ta."

  "Then why the hell the black lace nightgown?"

  I opened my eyes a crack and took a peek.

  There was Kitty stuffed into a tight black mist of a gown that barely shaded her nudity. Cal stood there in his jockey shorts, a huge bulge in the crotch that made me hastily close my eyes again.

  Please, God, I prayed, don't let them do it in the bed—not with me here, please, please.

  "This is my way t'teach ya some self-control,"

  Kitty replied primly, and crawled into the bed beside me. "Ya don't have any, ya know. It's all ya want from me, an ya ain't gonna have any till I got this girl trained t'way I want her t'be."

  I listened, amazed that he took what she dished out. Pa never would have. What kind of man was Kitty's husband? Wasn't a man always the boss in his family? I felt a bit sick that he didn't fight back and stand up to her.

  Cal slipped into the bed on the opposite side of me. I stiffened when I felt the brush of his bristly skin against my arm. I felt angry that he hadn't gone downstairs and made up the sleep sofa himself, overridden her desires and staked his own bed for his own reasons; yet, for some reason, I pitied him.

  I knew already who was the real man in this family.

  His low voice rolled over me. "Don't push me too far, Kitty," Cal warned before he turned on his side and tucked his arm under his head.

  "I love ya, sweetheart darlin, I do. An t'sooner this girl learns her lessons, t'sooner ya an me kin have this bed all fer ourselves."

  "Jesus Christ," was the last thing he said.

  It was awful to sleep between a man and his wife, and know he was resenting my presence. Now he'd never learn to like me, and I'd been depending on his favor. Without it, how could I manage to endure Kitty and her strange behavior and swings of mood?

  Maybe this was Kitty's way to see that he never liked me. What a hatefully mean thing to do.

  Mother, Mother, I lay sobbing, desperately wanting that long-dead mother who was buried on the mountainside where the wolves cried at the moon and the wind sang in the leaves. Oh, to be home again, back with Granny alive, with Sarah cutting out biscuits, with Grandpa whittling, and Tom, Fanny, Keith, and Our Jane running in the meadows.

  I was suspecting already . . paradise lived in Winnerrow. Hell was up ahead.

  No, didn't have to be that way. Not if I could make Kitty like and trust me.

  Not if I could somehow convince Kitty I

  wouldn't do anything dangerous or wicked when I slept alone downstairs on the sofa bed. I closed out the pain of my raw skin and again fell into deep, merciful sleep.

  Thirteen

  Fevered

  Dreamer

  .

  As IF I STILL LIVED IN THE CABIN

  HIGH IN THE WILLIES, MY mental rooster crowed.

  I woke up stiff and aching; it hurt every time I moved. Visions of the night before and the hot bath made me think I'd had a nightmare, but my burning skin was proof I hadn't dreamed that scalding bath.

  Five o'clock, my body clock said. I thought of Tom, and how he would be outside chopping wood or hunting now; seldom did I awaken to find Tom sleeping —back in the Willies where my heart ached to be. Disoriented, I blindly reached to find the soft sweetness of Our Jane, and touched a strong arm bristly with hair. I bolted more wide awake, stared around, reluctant to look at Kitty or her husband sprawled asleep on the wide bed. Frail morning light poured in through the open drapes.

  Moving stiffly, I carefully crawled over Cal, thinking him the better choice to risk awakening. I slipped out of bed and looked around, admiring so much of what I saw, while some things left me bothered; such as the careless way Kitty had dropped all her clothes on the floor and just left them there.

  Why, we didn't do that in the cabin. All the fine ladies I'd read about in novels had never dropped their clothes on the floor. And Kitty had made such a fuss about everything being neat and clean! Then, I reasoned, Kitty had no worries about finding roaches and other vermin in her floor-scattered clothes, which had always been on my mind when I hung a garment on a nail. Still. . . she shouldn't do that. I picked up her clothes and hung them neatly in her closet, amazed at all the other clothes I saw there.

  Quietly leaving the bedroom, I eased the door behind me, breathed a sigh of relief. Oh, I couldn't keep sleeping between husband and wife . . . it just wasn't right.

  How silent this house was. I stepped down the hall and into the bathroom, and saw myself in the long wall-length mirror. Oh, my poor face! It was red and swollen, and when I touched it, it felt soft in some places, hard and irritated in others. The rash of small red dots burned like fire. Some of the larger patches were even bloody, as if I'd scratched them in the night. Helpless tears coursed down my face . . . would I ever be pretty again?

  What had Granny always said? "Ya takes what ya get an makes t'most of it . . ."

  Well, I would have to accept what couldn't be helped now. Though it hurt to pull off my brand-new nightgown, hurt to raise my arms, hurt to move my legs. In fact, every move I made hurt my skin. How had I managed to sleep so soundly? Fatigue so deep even pain didn't reach me? But the night had delivered not so much rest as seething bad dreams about Tom, Keith, and Our Jane, leaving unpleasant impressions to trouble my mind as first I used that pink seat, and hesitated before flushing it. Next I set about frantically trying to untangle the impossible mess of my hair.

  Through the thin walls that separated the bath from the bedroom drifted Kitty's grunts and groans, as if the new day gave Kitty immediate problems. ". .

  Where t'hell are my bedroom slippers? Where t'hell is that dumb kid? She'd betta not use all t'hot water—she'd betta not!"

  Cal's calm, soft voice consoled Kitty as if she were a small child and had to be indulged. "You go easy on her, Kitty," he cautioned. "You're the one who wanted her, you keep remembering that. Though why you insist on her sleeping in our bed is beyond comprehension. A girl her age needs her own room, to decorate, to dream in, to keep her secrets."

  "Ain't gonna be no secrets!" fired Kitty.

  He continued as if she hadn't spoken, and my hopes rallied. "I was against this from the first. Still, I feel sorry for her. Especially after what you did last night. And when I think of that pitiful cabin, all those attempts to make it cozy, I realize how blessed we are to have what we do. Kitty, even if you don't want to move out your pottery wheel and all the other junk, we could manage to put a twin bed in our second bedroom, and a nice dresser. A bedside table and a lamp, and maybe a desk where she could do her homework. C'mon, Kitty. . . what do you say?"

  "I say NO!"

  "Honey, she appears to be a nice girl, very sweet."

  He was trying to persuade her, maybe with

  kisses and hugs. Why, from the noises they made, I could almost see what he was doing.

  A slap! A hard hand striking soft flesh! "Ya thinks she's pretty, don't ya? Yer noticin already, huh?

  But ya kin't have her, ya keep rememberin that! I got patience, an I got tolerance, but don't ya go foolin around with no kid who's gonna be our daughta."

  How loud she yelled.

  "Don't you ever slap me again, Kitty," Cal said in a hard, cold voice. "I put up with a lot from you, but I draw the line at physical violence. If you can't touch me with love and tenderness, don't touch me at all."

  "Honey, it didn't hurt, did it?"

  "That's not the issue, whether or not it hurt. The issue is, I don't like violent women, or ones that shout and raise their voices. And the walls are paper-thin.

  I'm sure Heaven thinks you treat her fine, just like a mother always treats a daughter she loves. Putting her to bed with her parents. She's a teenager, Kitty, not an infant." />
  "Ya jus don't understand, do ya?" Kitty sounded more than grouchy. "I know how hill gals are; ya don't. Ya kin't begin to know t'evil stuff they do—an they don't need no man t' be there, neither. An if ya want peace in this house, ya'll let me do it my way."

  Not a word from Cal to defend me. Not a word about the boiling bath and all the damage it had done—why not? Why was he timid around Kitty when she was in the house, when he'd stood up to her in the car?

  The bedroom door opened. The slippy-slop of Kitty's feathered slippers sounded on the hall floor, coming this way. I panicked. Quickly I seized one of the faded old towels and swathed it about my sore body.

  Kitty came in without knocking, threw me a hard glance, then without a word whipped off her flimsy black nightgown, kicked off her pink slippers, and sat down naked on the toilet. I started to leave, but she ordered me back. "Do somethin fer yer head . . . it looks awful!" she said flatly.

  I bowed my head, trying not to see or hear anything. Diligently I worked with as much careful speed as my tangled hair would allow.

  Soon Kitty was in the shower, singing country tunes in a loud voice. All the time I kept trying to unsnarl my hair.

  Kitty came out of the shower, drying her body with a lush pink towel, scowling my way. "Neva wanta come in here agin an see what I just saw in that toilet—ya hear?"

  "I'm sorry. But I was afraid if I flushed it, it would awaken you and your husband. Tomorrow morning I'll use the downstairs bath."

  "Ya betta," mumbled Kitty. "Now ya hurry up an finish, then put on one of t'nice dresses Cal bought fer ya t'wear. This aftanoon, Cal an me's gonna show ya around, go t'Atlanta, let ya see my shop, how pretty it is, how much my girls love me. Tomorrow we'll go t'church, an Monday ya'll start school with all Vother kids yer age. Sacrificin my ceramic classes fer yer sake, ya keep that in mind. Could make plenty t'day, but won't, jus t'get ya started right."

  I again set diligently to work on my hair as Kitty made up her face and dressed all in pink. She picked at her bush of auburn hair with a funny-looking wire thing, then turned to beam at me. "What say?"

  "You look beautiful," I answered truthfully. "I never saw anyone so beautiful."

  Kitty's pale eyes glistened. Her smile spread to show large, even white teeth. "Neva guess, would ya, that I'm thirty-five?"

  "No," I breathed. Older than Sarah, imagine that, and Kitty looked so much younger.

  "Cal's only twenty-five, an that worries me some, bein ten years olds than my own husband.

  Caught me a fine man, I did, a real fine man, even if he is youngabut don't ya tell nobody my age, ya hear?"

  "They wouldn't believe me if I did."

  "Why, ain't that sweet of ya," Kitty said in a new and softer voice. She stepped closer to give me a quick hug, a swift kiss on my raw cheek. "Didn't really want t'make yer skin look so red an raw. Does it really hurt?"

  I nodded, and then Kitty was finding ointment to touch lightly on my face with great kindness.

  "Guess sometimes I overdo thins. Don't want ya t'hate me. Want more than anythin fer ya t'love me like ya would yer own mother. Honey, I'm sorry—but ya gotta admit, we done killed all t'bad stuff ya had clingin t'ya like moss on a rotten tree."

  She said everything I had been secretly praying to hear, and impulsively I hugged Kitty back, kissed her cheek very carefully so as not to spoil that perfect makeup job. "And you smell so good," I whispered tearfully, overcome with relief.

  "Ya an me are gonna get along fine, jus fine, we are, we are," enthused Kitty, smiling happily.

  Then, to show she meant right, she took the comb from my hand and began to work on my tangled hair.

  With gentleness and great adroitness she soon had my hair a smooth-flowing cascade. Next she picked up a brush she said I could use from now on, and she brushed and brushed, using it in mysterious ways.

  Dipping it in water, shaking off most, curling hair over her fingers . . . and when I again looked into the mirror, I saw a beautiful head of shining dark curling hair around a white patchwork face and two huge blue eyes.

  "Thank you," I whispered gratefully, loving Kitty for being kind, and more than willing to forget the torture of last night.

  "Okay. Now let's head fer t'kitchen an t'tour I promised ya. Gotta be quick about all of this. Got so much t'do."

  Together we descended the stairs. Cal was

  already in the kitchen. "I've got the coffee water boiling, and I'm fixing breakfast today," Cal said in a cheerful voice. He was busy frying bacon and eggs in separate skillets, so he couldn't turn his head. "Good morning, Heaven," he greeted, laying the bacon carefully on paper toweling, spooning hot grease over the sunny-side ups. "Do you like toast best, or English muffins? I'm an English muffin fan, especially with currant jelly or orange marmalade."

  It wasn't until we all sat down at the pretty round table to eat that he really saw me again. His eyes widened with pity to see my face, not even noticing how lovely my hair looked. "Good Lord in heaven, Kitty, it's an awful shame to take a pretty face and make it look like a clown. What the hell is that white stuff smeared all over her?"

  "Why, honey, it's t'same stuff ya woulda used."

  He appeared thwarted, disgusted, and turned to pick up the newspaper. "Please refrain from washing her face again, Kitty. Let her do it herself," he said from behind the newspaper, as if so angry he couldn't bear to look at Kitty.

  "She'll be all right agin, give her time," stated Kitty matter-of-factly, sitting down and picking up a section of the paper he'd laid aside. "Okay, Heaven, eat up. Got a lot t'do today, all of us. Gonna show ya t'time of yer life ain't we, honey?"

  "Yeah," he said gruffly, "but it would have been nicer for Heaven if she didn't have to be seen as she is."

  Despite my face, once I had the ointment wiped off I did have a wonderful time seeing Atlanta and the hotel where Kitty had her beauty salon, all decorated in pink, black, and gold, where rich ladies sat under slick white hoods banded in pink and gold, where eight pretty girls worked, and everyone there was a blonde.

  "Ain't they pretty, though, ain't they?" asked Kitty, looking so proud. "Jus love bright golden hair that looks sunny an cheerful . . . not dull silvery-blond hair that's hardly no color at all."

  I winced, knowing she was referring to my

  mother's hair.

  She introduced me to everyone, while Cal

  stayed out in the hotel lobby, as if Kitty didn't want him in here with all these girls.

  Then they took me shopping again. Already I was wearing a pretty new blue coat that Cal had chosen, and it fitted perfectly. Unhappily, all that Kitty selected for me—skirts, blouses, sweaters, underwear—she bought a size too large, and I hated the heavy, clumsy white saddle shoes she thought I should wear. Even the valley girls in Winnerrow wore better than those. I tried to tell Kitty this, but she had her own memories of what kind of shoes she'd worn.

  "Don't ya say anotha word! Kids don't wear fancy shoes t'school—they don't!"

  Yet, when we were again back in the car, I had to feel happy with so many new clothes, more than I'd had in all my life. Three pairs of shoes. Nicer ones to wear tomorrow when we went to church.

  We ate again in a fast-food place that seemed to disgust Cal. "Really, Kitty, you know I hate this kind of greasy junk."

  "Ya like t'throw good money around just t'show off. Me, I don't kerr what I eat if it's cheap enough."

  Cal didn't reply, only frowned and turned very quiet, letting Kitty do all the talking as he drove and she explained the sights. "This is t'school where ya'll be goin'," she said as Cal drove slowly past a huge red-brick building that was surrounded by several acres of lawn and playing fields. "Ya kin ride t'yellow buses on rainy days, but walk on sunny ones Cal darlin honey, did we buy her all she needs fer school?" she shouted.

  "Yes."

  "Why ya mad at me?"

  "I'm not deaf. You don't have to shout."

  She snuggled closer to him as I leaned back and tried not to see
how she kissed him even as he drove through traffic. "Honey sweetheart, love ya, I do.

  Love ya so much it hurts."

  He cleared his throat. "Where is Heaven sleeping tonight?"

  "With us, honey—ain't I done tole ya how it is with hill girls?"

  "Yes . . . ya done tole me," he said with sarcasm, and then said no more, not even when we settled down that night so I could watch my first color television show. It was so thrilling it took my breath away. How beautiful all those colorful dancing girls, how little they wore, and then the scary movie came on, and Cal disappeared.

  I hadn't even noticed when he left. "That's what he does when he's mad," said Kitty, getting up to switch off the TV. "Goes t'hide in t'basement, an pretends t'work. We're goin up now. Ya'll take anotha bath, wash yer hair yerself, an I won't enta while yer in there." She paused and looked thoughtful. "Right now I gotta go down an do some sweet-talkin t'my man." She giggled, and headed toward the kitchen, leaving me to enjoy my bath in the pink tub.

  I hated to sleep again between Kitty and Cal.

  Hated the way she teased and tormented him, giving me the impression she didn't really love him half as much as he loved her. Did Kitty really hate men?

  Sunday I was up first again. On bare feet I padded down the stairs, hurried through the kitchen, hunted for the door to the basement, and found it in a small back hall. Once I was down there in the dimness, I searched and searched among all the clutter that Kitty didn't keep neat and clean, until I found my suitcase put high on a shelf over a workbench.

  Granny's shawls were neatly folded in a pile beside it.

  I climbed up on the bench to pull down the suitcase, wondering if Cal had opened it.

  Everything inside was exactly as I'd left it. I'd stuffed in six favorite books given to me by Miss Deale . . even a nursery-rhyme book that Keith and Our Jane had loved for me to read at bedtime. Tears filled my eyes just to see that book . . "Tell us a story, Hey-lee . . make it last, Hey-lee. Read it again, Hey-lee."