Heaven (Casteel Series #1)

by V. C. Andrews

They love their new parents, and Fanny loves hers.

  "I have married again, and my wife insists that I try and put my family back together again. I have a fine home now, and earn a great deal of money. There is very little hope that I can buy back Keith and Our Jane, or Fanny, but I am hoping you and Tom will come to live with us. Your grandfather will also be there.

  "Maybe this time I can be the kind of father you can love instead of hate.

  Father"

  There was an address and a telephone number beneath his name, but I could hardly read by this time.

  He'd never called me daughter before, never referred to himself as my father before—why now? I balled up the note and hurled it into the trash can near Kitty's bed.

  Anger overrode all my other emotions. How

  could I trust a man who'd sell his children? How did I know for sure Tom and I would be all right in his care? What could he possibly do to earn a lot of money? Or had he married it? How could I believe anything he said? How could he know that Keith and Our Jane were truly happy where they were? Or Fanny? How could I know until I found out for myself?

  Tom ran to retrieve the balled-up letter, and carefully he smoothed it out and read it silently. Each line he read made his face brighter.

  "Why did ya do that?" asked Kitty with softness in her eyes. "It were a nice letta, it were, weren't it, Cal? Heaven, ya take it up an save it, cause there'll come a day when ya'll need t'see him again—" And then she failed and began to cry.

  "Tom, let's go." I turned to leave.

  "Wait a minute," whispered Kitty. "Got somethin else fer ya." She smiled weakly and took a small envelope from under her pillow. "Had a good talk wid yer pa—an he gave me this here t'keep fer ya, an give t'ya when t'time comes. It's my way of tryin t'make up fer what I did. . ." She floundered, glanced at Cal, then added, "I think t'time is now."

  I was trembling as I took the second small envelope. What could Pa say in this one to make up for all he'd done? Maybe Our Jane and Keith were fine—but how could I be sure, when that horrible farmer had worked Tom like a slave, as Kitty had worked me? Then I glanced up and saw Torn with his eyes fixed on me, as if I held his life in his hands . . .

  and maybe I did. Oh, what harm would it do to read more lies?

  Again I read his small handwriting. My eyes widened even as my heart began to race.

  Pa'd come to the hospital hoping to find me.

  Your grandpa has told me you have your heart set on going to Boston to find your mother's parents.

  If that is your choice, to go there instead of coming to live with me and my wife, enclosed is a plane ticket I bought for you to use, and I have called your Boston grandparents to tell them you might be coming. Here is their address and telephone number. Write to me to let me know how things go.

  My muscles tightened from the shock I felt.

  Why was he doing this? To get rid of me a second time? There were two addresses at the bottom of the letter, one written hurriedly in pencil. I stared at the names: Mr. and Mrs. James L. Rawlings.

  I looked up. "Heaven," Cal said softly, "it was Kitty who persuaded your father to put the names of the couple who bought Our Jane and Keith in that note you hold. Now you know where they are, and someday you can go to see them.

  I couldn't speak, could hardly think.

  Tom was reading over my shoulder. "Heavenly, you see, you see, he's not as bad as you think! Now we can visit Our Jane and Keith. But I remember that contract the lawyer made Pa sign . . . we can never take them away—" He stopped short, staring at my face. I felt odd, my knees weak, all my emotions draining into the floor. I'd so wanted to find Keith and Our Jane, and now it appeared I could. But the plane ticket in my hand seemed blackmail to force me to stay out of their lives. Trembling still, I jammed the small envelope and its contents into my pocket, and said good-bye to Kitty before I strode out into the hallway, leaving Tom still talking to Cal.

  Let Cal stay. I didn't care.

  In the hall outside of her room I called "Tom!"

  impatiently, tired of waiting when he continued to talk in a low voice with Cal. "I'm not going to wait forever."

  I turned and walked away. Tom hurried to catch up, and outside the hospital I headed for the motel, thinking that right now, today, I'd head for Boston . . .

  "Are you going with me to Boston, Tom?"

  His long strides shortened to keep in step with me. He had his head lowered against the wind and rain. "Heavenly, we've got to talk."

  "We can talk as we walk to the motel. I'll pack my things. Kitty's happy . . . did you see her face? Cal didn't even look at me. Why aren't you delighted to be going with me?"

  "Everything has changed! Pa's different! Can't you tell by his letters? He went to see that woman, and she sees he's changed—why can't you? Heavenly, I want to go with you, you know I do, and Mr.

  Dennison said he'd pay my way, if that's what I wanted . . . but first I have to see Pa. I'm sure he's gone on to the Setterton home to look for you, and perhaps he's already been to visit Buck Henry, and suspects I am with you. We can catch him if we hurry."

  "NO!" I flared, feeling my face burn with anger. "You go if you feel you have to, but I never want to see him again! He can't write two short notes and wipe the slate clean!"

  "Then promise to stay put until you hear from me!"

  I promised, still feeling numb from all that had happened to confuse my hatred. "Tom . . . you will go with me to Boston? Come with me, and together, after we're established, we'll go for Keith and Our Jane."

  He was striding away from me! Turning at the corner to wave and smile. "Heavenly, hold on. Don't you dare go anywhere until you hear from me!"

  I watched Tom walk away with a certain joy in his stride, as if he believed he'd find Pa, and with Pa he'd have a better life than with Buck Henry.

  In the motel room, I lay down and gave in to a weird crying spell that left me weak and completely drained. I resolved before I slipped into sleep never to cry again.

  When the telephone rang I woke up to answer it, and heard Tom on the other end saying he'd found Pa, and now they both were coming to see me.

  "Heavenly, he was in Stonewall Pharmacy asking for you, and for me. He's changed. You're not going to believe it when you see him! He's sorry for all the mean things he did and said, and he's going to say that when he sees you . . . so you be there when we drive up. Promise?"

  I hung up without promising.

  Tom had betrayed me!

  Again I left the motel, to sit alone in the park. It wasn't until dark, when I felt Tom would have given up, that I returned to the motel and fell into the bed.

  Tom wasn't going with me to Boston—he'd

  rather stay with Pa, and after all the vows we'd made to one another!

  And Logan had flown off to college without making any effort to see me again. What did I have left but my mother's parents in Boston? Even Cal seemed indifferent to me now that he was so taken up with Kitty. I needed someone. Maybe this was Fate's way of seeing I went on to Boston to my

  grandparents.

  I was packing my clothes when Cal came in

  and told me that he knew about Tom finding Pa, and Pa driving Tom to the motel to pick me up, only I'd gone. "They looked all over town for you, Heaven.

  Tom presumed you'd already flown to Boston, and he looked so hurt. Anyway, he and your father gave up their search. Where were you?"

  "Hiding in the park," I admitted. Cal didn't understand; still, he held me and rocked me as if I were six instead of sixteen. "If they call to check on me, you tell them you haven't seen me," I pleaded.

  "Yes," he agreed, his eyes troubled as they tried to meet mine. "I do think, though, you should see Tom again, and talk to your father. Heaven, maybe he has changed. Maybe he is sorry. Maybe you don't have to fly to Boston, and will like living with your father and his new wife."

  I turned my back. Pa hadn't changed.

  Cal left me alone, and I continued to pack, thinking
of what a sorry mess I'd let myself in for when I chose Kitty Dennison and her husband. I had almost packed all my clothes when Cal opened the door and stared at me, his eyes narrowed. "You're still going to Boston?"

  "Yes."

  "What about me?"

  "What about you?"

  He blushed, had the decency to bow his head.

  "The doctors examined Kitty a little while ago. I know this sounds incredible, but she's better! Really better.

  Her white-cell count is almost normal. Her platelet count is rising. The tumor has shrunk just a bit, and if this keeps up they think she will live. Heaven, that visit from your father gave her the will to go on. Now she says it was always me she loved most, and she didn't know it until she was on the brink of death—what can I do? I can't turn away froth:my wife when she needs me so much, can I? So perhaps it is for the best that you go on to Boston with my prayers and all my love—and someday you and I will meet again, and maybe then you can forgive me for taking advantage of a young and sweet and beautiful girl."

  Stunned, I widened my eyes in astonishment.

  "You never loved me!" I yelled accusingly, brokenly.

  "You used me!"

  "I do love you! I will always love you! I hope wherever you go you'll always love me just a little.

  You were there when I needed someone. Go and forget Kitty and what was done, and don't step into Tom's life when he'll have everything going fine for him. Fanny is happy where she is. Leave Keith and Our Jane where they are. Your mother's people in Boston might object if you come with others. And forget me. I made my bed when I married Kitty. It doesn't have to be your bed too. Go now, while I have the strength to do the right thing. Go before she leaves that hospital a well woman, and her old self returns to seek you out and destroy you for taking what she thinks belongs solely to her. Kitty'll never truly change. She's been on the brink of death, afraid of what's on the other side . . . but once she recovers, she'll come after you. So, for your own sake . . . go now, today."

  I didn't know what to say, or what to do. I could only stare with teary vision as he paced back and forth.

  "Heaven, when your father was in the room with Kitty, she was the one who pleaded for him to tell you where Our Jane and Keith are. It was her gift to you to make up for all she's done."

  I didn't understand, and yet my heartthrobs hurt so much I wanted to run from my body. "How can I believe anything Kitty says, or Pa?"

  "Your father sensed you were running from him, and he guessed you'd never see him again, so he turned over to Tom more photographs of Our Jane and Keith so he could give them to you. I saw them, Heaven. They've grown since the last pictures sent to you. They have parents who adore them, and they live in a fine home, and attend one of the best schools in the country. If you have an idea of going there, remember you will take with you sad memories they might want to forget . . . think of that before you walk into their new lives. Give them time to grow up a bit more, Heaven, and give yourself time to mellow."

  He said many things that I refused to hear.

  Cal gave me cash that Pa had given him to pass on to me. I stared at the bills in my hand. A stack of twenty-dollar bills—amounting to five hundred dollars, the price Kitty and Cal had paid for me. My wide bleak eyes raised to meet Cal's—and he turned away.

  That was ail I needed to really decide me. I'd go! I'd never come back! Not even to see Logan again! I was finished with Winnerrow and the Willies, and everybody who'd said they loved me.

  The first flight to Atlanta, from where I could transfer to a plane for Boston, was the next day at nine. Cal drove me to the airport, and carried my bags for me. He seemed nervous, anxious to get away, before he kissed me good-bye; then his stark eyes fleetingly swept over my face, scanned down to my shoes, then up again, slowly, slowly. "Your plane takes off in twenty minutes. I'd like to stay and wait with you . . but I really should get back to Kitty."

  "Yes, you really should," I said dryly. I wasn't going to say good-bye, wasn't . . . yet I did. "Goodbye

  . . . good-bye . . ." I wasn't going to cry or hurt inside to see him walk away without looking back, yet I did, though I saw him slow and hesitate before he shrugged, stood taller, and then walked off even faster. Going back to Kitty, and whatever the future held.

  Twenty minutes to wait. How could I pass the time? I didn't have anyone now that Logan had run from me, now that Tom preferred Pa to me; and Fanny had long ago decided she didn't need me. . . .

  New doubts washed over me in great fearful waves.

  How did I know my mother's family would want me?

  But I had five hundred dollars, and even if things didn't work out right in Boston, I'd find a way to survive.

  "Heaven! Heaven!" I heard a familiar voice call. Turning, I stared at the lovely young girl running my way. Was that Fanny? Fanny running in a slow and awkward way? "Heaven," she gasped, throwing her arms about me. "Tom came an tole me ya were leavin, an I couldn't let ya go way thinkin I don't kerr, when I do, I do! So skerred we'd be late an miss ya!

  Sorry I was mean t'ya, but they don't want me t'talk to ya!" She drew away and, with a broad, happy smile, threw open her heavy fur coat to display her bulging middle. Then she whispered in my ear. "Got t'Reverend's baby in there. It's gonna be so sweet, I jus know it is. His wife is gonna pass it off as her own, an give me ten grand fer it . . . then I'm headin on t'New York!"

  Nothing could surprise me anymore. I could only stare at her. "You'd sell your own baby, for ten thousand?"

  "Ya'd neva do that, would ya?" she asked.

  "Don't ya make me sorry I said yes when Tom came an said I had t'come an say good-bye." Tears shone in her dark eyes. "Do what I feel I gotta, jus as ya do."

  She backed off, and only then did I see Tom, who was smiling at me in the sweetest, most loving way. He stepped forward to take me in his arms. "Cal Dennison called and told me you were leaving for Boston today, Heavenly . . . and he asked me not to bring along Pa."

  Yanking away, I cried out, "You're not coming with me, are you?"

  He spread his large hands wide in a

  supplicating gesture. "LOOK AT ME! What do you think your grandparents will feel when they, see you've brought your half brother with you? They won't want me! I'm all hillbilly! Like Pa! Haven't you said that many times since you came back here? I'm not refined and dainty the way you are, with culture and manners. Heavenly, I'm thinking of your welfare when I say I've got to stay with Pa, even though I'd much rather go with you."

  "You're lying! You'd rather stay with Pa!"

  "Heavenly, please listen! You can't go to your mother's family hauling along all your hillbilly relatives! I want your life to turn out right, and it won't if I go with you!"

  "Tom, PLEASE! I need you!"

  He shook his head, his wild red hair flying. "If you need me later on, after you're settled in, write and I'll come, I swear that. But for now, start out fresh."

  "He's right," vouched Fanny, coming closer and looking around nervously, as anxious to leave as Cal had been. "It was Tom who made me come, an I'm glad I did. I love ya, Heaven. Didn't want t'close t'door in yer face . . . but I do what I hav'ta. Mrs. Wise is takin me away so my baby kin be born where nobody will know who we are; an when it's ova, she'll go back t'Winnerrow with her own baby, an she'll tell everyone it's hers, an I was jus a no-good Casteel an ran off with a no-good fella."

  "And you won't care?"

  "Nope. Kin't affort ta." She smiled and backed off. "Tom, we gotta git back fore I'm missed. Ya promised me, ya did."

  Fanny, who'd always said she wanted a baby so much, was selling hers, just as Pa had sold his.

  Again I turned to Tom. "So you're going to stay with Pa and his new wife. Why don't you tell me about her—one of the girls from Shirley's Place?"

  He flushed and looked uneasy. "No, not that kind at all. Right now I've got to drive Fanny back home. Good luck, Heavenly. Write . . ." And with those words he kissed my cheek and seized Fanny by the arm and hurried
her away.

  "Good-bye, good-bye!" I was calling again, waving frantically to Fanny, who turned and smiled through her tears. Oh, how I hated good-byes! Would I ever see Fanny or Tom again?

  And why was Tom turning around to smile at me in

  that odd, sad kind of way? I watched him and Fanny until they were out of sight, then turned and sat again, thinking now I had ten more minutes before my flight.

  It was a small airport with a nice little park outside where I could watch the planes as they landed. I paced back and forth in the frail autumn sunlight, with the wind whipping my hair and stealing all the neatness and making it wild again. I almost felt I was back in the hills.

  My eyes swam in tears.

  Then it was time for me to go to my plane, which was boarding passengers. For the first time in my life I was boarding a small plane, climbing the ramp, taking a seat and buckling my seat belt, as if I'd done this many times before. In Atlanta I transferred to another, larger plane that would land in Boston.

  I'd begin a new life in a new place. My past would be unknown.

  Strange that Kitty could be so happy just

  because my pa came to see her one time, and brought her roses, and said he was sorry, when Cal had bought her roses a hundred times, and he'd said he was sorry a million times, and that hadn't given her peace or happiness—or the will to survive. Who would have ever believed Pa could inspire that kind of lasting love?

  But I'd asked myself that before, and hadn't found the answer. Why ask again?

  I closed my eyes and determined to stop

  thinking about the past and clear the way for the future. Kitty and Cal would go back to Candlewick when she was released from the hospital, and they'd live on in her pink-and-white house, and somebody else would water all those plants. I reached in my pocket for a tissue to dry my eyes and blow my nose.

  To distract myself I opened the Winnerrow newspaper that I'd picked up in the airport just before I left and casually flipped through its pages.

  It had only four sheets. On the fourth one I stared at an old photograph of Kitty Setterton Dennison, taken when she was about seventeen years old. How pretty she'd been, so fresh-faced and eager and sweet-looking. It was an obituary!