Gates of Paradise (Casteel Series #4)

by V. C. Andrews

  So my mother always knew that Troy was still alive, but she could never speak to him, or write to him, or go to him again. Now I understood why Troy Tatterton had looked at me the way he had when he had first set eyes on me. I had surely roused his memories, especially with my hair colored the way Mommy's hair had been.

  Much of what was written in the letter made sense to me, since I had been at Farthy. I understood the references to Jillian's madness, the idea of spirits wandering the big house, Tony's torment and the reason Troy had made himself invisible to the world around him. But what I didn't understand or know until this moment, of course, was Mommy's agony, for it seemed from the way Troy wrote, that she had loved him as much as he had loved her.

  How well she would have understood what was happening between Luke and myself now, I thought; and now I understood why she was so concerned about the time he and I spent with one another. She anticipated all this because it had happened to her.

  "Oh, Mommy," I whispered, "how I wish you and I could have just one more conversation. How much I need your counsel and wisdom. I would easily see that you had lived through this kind of pain and I would be guided by your words."

  Until the first tear splattered on the letter, I did not realize I had been crying. Much of what Troy had written here to Mommy, Luke could have written to me. In fact, as I had read the words, I had heard Luke's voice.

  I refolded the letter and lifted the roof from the cottage once again to return it to its special hiding place where it had been kept all these years. It belonged with the cottage; it was part of it. The music tore at my heart much the same way it must have torn at Mommy's whenever she sat alone and listened, for while it played, she surely saw Troy's face and heard his words of farewell, time after time after time.

  Perhaps this had much to do with why she

  never wanted to return to Farthy. It wasn't only her anger at Tony. The memories of lost love were too painful. And all those times Luke and I talked about the maze and fantasized about Farthy . . . the pain we were inflicting on her without realizing it. Oh, Mother, I thought, forgive us. Our little fictions must have sent you back to this little toy cottage to mourn the love you had buried forever.

  Just then Mrs. Avery knocked on my door. I called to her to come in. She looked unusually flustered and excited.

  "There's a gentleman on the phone who says he's calling from Farthinggale Manor. He says it's very important."

  Would I ever be free of Tony Tatterton and his mad hallucinations and confusions? Bubbles of anger began to boil in me. "Well, you'll have to tell Tony Tatterton—"

  "No, Annie, it's not Mr. Tony Tatterton. He says it's about Mr. Tony Tatterton. He says he thought you ought to know."

  "Know? Know what?" My heart stopped and then began to pitter-patter.

  "He didn't say, Annie. He asked to speak directly to you and I came looking for you."

  "Oh. Tell him I'm coming." I took a deep breath and drove back the cold shiver that had started to climb my spine.

  I followed Mrs. Avery as quickly as I could.

  Now that was up and about, I was frustrated by my slow and awkward gait.

  Mrs. Avery handed me the telephone receiver and I sat down to speak.

  "Hello," I said in a tiny frightened voice. I thought the pounding of my heart could be heard over the phone; it was that loud to me.

  "Annie," he said. I had no trouble recognizing the voice, just as imagined Mommy would have had no trouble had she heard it after years and years. "I thought you would want to know and might want to come to the funeral."

  "Funeral?" My heart paused and I held my breath. "Tony passed away a few hours ago. I was at his bedside."

  "Passed away?" Suddenly I felt sorry for him, pining away at Farthy, thinking the woman he loved had left him again. Through me he had relived his own tragedy. I had unwillingly been an actress in a play cast years and years ago. Like some understudy, I had stepped into a role Mommy had been forced to play, too. Now, finally, mercifully perhaps, the curtain had been brought down, the lights had been turned off, the players had all left the stage. For Tony Tatterton, the agony had come to an end.

  But Troy's voice was filled with sincere sorrow, not relief. He had lost a brother who had once been more of a father to him.

  "Oh, Troy. I'm sorry. I didn't think he was physically unwell. You were with him?"

  "I had just made up my mind to make myself more visible and give him some comfort at a time in his life when he desperately needed someone to care for him, for what I had told you was true—he did care for me whenever I was sick. And," he added, his voice cracking, "he did love me very much. Ultimately, we had no one but each other."

  My throat closed up and I couldn't swallow for a moment. I felt my eyes fill with tears. It was not difficult for me to imagine Troy at Tony's bedside, Tony's hand in his, Troy's head bowed, his shoulders shaking with sobs when the life left his older brother.

  "How did he die?" I finally asked, my voice so thin it was nearly in a whisper.

  "It was a stroke. Apparently, he had had a minor one some time back, but I never knew."

  "Drake called me recently and told me he had spoken with him, but he didn't mention he was seriously ill."

  "He shut himself up in his room, so that even Rye didn't know what was happening. By the time he realized it, it was already too late. At least I was with him at the end. He babbled a great deal, confusing people. After a while I wasn't sure he knew who I was, but he did mention your name and he made me promise I would look after you and be sure you were all right.

  "I . . . I know that he had been going through strange mental torments, and I imagine you witnessed some of it, but he was harmless. He was just someone searching for love and a way to make up for his sins . .

  . something we all end up doing one way or another."

  "I know." I wondered if he could hear in the way I had said that just how much I already did know.

  "I know who Tony really was to me, Troy. He shouted it out as I was leaving, and my aunt Fanny confirmed it."

  "Oh. I see." His voice drifted off. "I'm not making any excuses for him, but he did have a complicated and difficult marriage."

  "Yes." I wasn't eager to talk about all that now.

  "But Troy, I want to come to the funeral. When is it?"

  "Day after tomorrow, two o'clock. Everything will be at the family cemetery. From what your maid just told me, I understand you've been improving steadily. I'm happy for you, Annie, and I don't want anything to set you back, so if making such a journey is too much of a strain—"

  "It won't be, and I won't have a setback. I'm anxious to see you again. I never had a chance to thank you for calling my aunt Fanny and having Luke and her come and get me. It was you who did that, wasn't it?"

  "I didn't watit to see you go; I was hoping we would have more opportunities to be together, but I saw what was happening to you here and I knew you really belonged with the people you loved, even though I can imagine how painful it must have been for you to go home. I remember Tony telling me how it was for him when he came to my cottage a long time ago, thinking I was dead and gone."

  "It was painful. I wish I had a cottage to hide away from sadness and pain like you do with a maze to keep unwanted people away."

  "Tragedy has a way of discovering the right turns and finding you anyway if it is meant to, Annie.

  I've learned that too well," he said sadly.

  "I know." My voice was barely audible, just a shade above a whisper. I was about to say more, perhaps even mention the secret letter in the toy cottage. He must have sensed something, for he spoke quickly to end our conversation.

  "I'll see you day after tomorrow, Annie. I'm happy you'll be there with me. Good-bye until then."

  "Good-bye, Troy."

  I cradled the receiver slowly, my thoughts turning to Tony. Despite the madness and the lies, I couldn't help cry for him. Troy had been right: even though Tony was rich beyond imagination, he was
lonely and lost, and very much like everyone else, searching for someone to love who would love him back.

  Perhaps Rye Whiskey was right about the

  spirits at Farthy. Maybe they had finally ended Tony's torment by claiming him as one of their own.

  Aunt Fanny was upset when I told her I planned to attend Tony's funeral.

  "No one know'd he was yer grandpappy, Annie.

  No one expects ya ta travel all the way ta see 'im buried."

  "I know who he was, Aunt Fanny. I can't forget him and hate him. He did try to help me in his own way."

  "That place is poison. All them rich people destroy themselves one way or t'other. Not that I don't want ta be rich; it's jist the way those beantown phonies lived, thinkin' they was better'n everyone else.

  Makes them mad as hatters. I wish ya'd change yer mind 'bout it."

  She complained all day, but she saw I was

  adamant. Shortly after I spoke with Troy and learned of Tony's death, I phoned Luke. I almost didn't speak when he answered the phone. He sounded so sad and alone. My hand trembled at the sound of his voice, but I closed my eyes and spoke up. As soon as he heard my voice, his voice regained its strength and lightness.

  "I've been trying to write you a letter for days, Luke, but nothing seems right."

  "I know. It's why I haven't spoken to you or written to you myself. But I'm glad you called. I'm trying to keep busy and to keep you out of my thoughts, but it's not easy. I'm so happy to hear your voice, Annie."

  "As I am to hear yours, but I'm not calling with happy news," I said, and told him about Tony's death and Troy's phone call. "Your mother is angry about my going and says she won't go back there. She's hoping I won't want to go myself, but I will. I can get around now with my cane, so traveling is easier."

  "I'll be there that morning to take you to Farthy," Luke replied quickly.

  "Oh, Luke, I knew you would."

  "I love you, Annie. I can't help it. I'll live with it and suffer with it until the day I die."

  "And so will I, Luke." Neither of us spoke for a moment. My throat closed up so tightly anyway, I wasn't sure I would be able to get any more words out.

  Finally, after a deep sigh, I looked at the painting of him I had done and regained my strength. "Oh, Luke, I painted a picture of you standing in the gazebo."

  "Really? Can I have it to hang in my dormitory room?"

  I wanted it for myself, but I thought that was too selfish a thing to say.

  "Of course."

  "I'll see it when I come to pick you up. Don't worry about anything. I'll handle all the travel arrangements."

  "Thank you, Luke."

  "Annie, it's so hard to deny what I feel for you."

  "I know. It's been the same for me."

  "I'll see you soon." Both of us had to end the conversation for the same reason. Each word was like a sharp, heavy sword, stinging as it struck us, right through to our hearts.

  Later in the afternoon Drake called. He was surprised I already knew about Tony's death, and even more surprised when I told him I would be at the funeral. He didn't even ask me how I had found out, so I didn't mention Troy at all. He put me off with his cold businessman's tone of voice.

  "Well, if you thought you wanted to come, you should have called me. But it's not too late. I'll make arrangements for you."

  "It's all being done. Luke's coming along, too."

  "I should have known."

  "Please, Drake. For Tony's sake, for his memory, let's keep peace," I pleaded.

  "You're right. Of course, I'll act dignified.

  Everyone who's anyone in the business world will be there, I assure you."

  "I didn't mean—"

  "Anyway, you can't imagine what's left to do now. I haven't got the time to waste on Luke. It's fortunate I began here before all this happened. I might as well have been Tony's son, the way people are turning to me. I was going to surprise you with the news, but I might as well tell you now. Before he died, Tony gave me a large percentage of the stock in his corporation." He paused, and then dryly added when I didn't congratulate him quickly enough, "I thought you would be happy to know."

  "I know it's what you want, Drake. I know you're happy."

  He was disappointed with my thoughtful and controlled reaction.

  "Yes. Well, I'll see you at the funeral."

  "Yes, Drake." He seemed more and more a stranger to me.

  Luke was at the house very early the morning of Tony's funeral to take me to the airport. I was dressed and ready when he came to my room. I stood without the cane. For a long moment we stared at each other. Finally, he shifted his eyes to the painting I had done of him.

  "Wow, that is really good."

  "I was hoping you would like it."

  "Like it? I love it. You're a wonderful artist, Annie. People will pay thousands for your paintings, I'm sure. I know I will."

  We stared at each other again. It seemed that whenever one of us finished a sentence, there was sure to be a long pause during which our eyes did the talking. Right now mine were telling him how much I loved and needed him and how much I felt cheated by destiny. His said the same.

  I thought Aunt Fanny would relent and join us, but she had as much of that Casteel stubbornness in her as she said Drake and Luke had. She broke our tormenting silences by coming to the doorway of my bedroom, her hands on her hips, her head thrown back in her characteristic manner.

  "Can't believe ya traveled down here ta take her ta that place, Luke. Ya shouldn't have encouraged it."

  "I would have gone with or without him, Aunt Fanny."

  "Yer motha ran away from that place and that man, Annie."

  "I know." I gazed at one of the pictures of her on my vanity table. It was one of my favorites because in it she was gazing off toward the Willies, one of her few good memories of that life brightening her cornflower-blue eyes. "But she had a way of seeing the rainbows after the rain. I think she would have gone to Tony's funeral, too, Aunt Fanny." I turned back to her, my gaze as sharp and as determined as Mommy's could be. Aunt Fanny saw that.

  "I've got to go for both of us."

  TWENTY-FOUR

  My Prince, at Last

  .

  As we started for the airport, I couldn't help imagining what it would have been like for us to be going to a plane that would take us on our honey-moon. What if we defied Fate and defied everyone and ran off to get married? This would have been our most romantic and loving journey. Airline attendants and other passengers would have looked at us snuggled beside each other and smiled to themselves, thinking how wonderful young love could be, how it opened the world and made life dazzling, exciting, hopeful, and warm.

  When I looked into Luke's face now as he

  helped me into the car taking us to the airport, I couldn't help but think we did belong together. How tragic and quick life could be, I thought. Look at what had happened to my parents; look at the agony Tony had lived through. Why shouldn't we choose happiness?

  During the ride to the airport in Virginia and the Plight itself, I debated whether or not I should tell Luke about the letter I had found in the toy cottage.

  Luke had been very polite, almost formal

  during the journey so far. I knew he was acting this way in order to build a wall between his feelings and me, but it was a torment for both of us. We quickly ran out of small talk, and every time his eyes met mine, our hearts thumped so hard both our faces became crimson. The passion within us wouldn't be denied. It would be easier to harness the ocean tide or smother the lightning that streaked across the summer sky.

  Because what happened between Troy and

  Mommy seemed so similar to what was happening between Luke and me, I thought he had a right to know and to understand what they had suffered.

  Surely it would help him appreciate why Mommy was so fearful about our relationship.

  I began by reminding him of the toy cottage, and then I described my discovery. When I recited s
ome of Troy's words, tears appeared in the corners of his dark sapphire eyes.

  "I can under-Stand his loneliness and why he wanted to drop out of the world and live by himself on the other side of the maze," Luke said. "I feel the same way."

  "No, Luke. You can't deny your life the way he has denied his. You must go on to become a doctor like you dreamed you would and find someone you can love cleanly, wholely, without guilt of any kind.

  You deserve it."

  "And you?"

  "I'll do the same. . . ."

  "You're not a good liar, Annie. Your blue eyes betray you."

  "Well, I'm going to try," I insisted.

  He smiled that smile of Casteel arrogance, Drake's smile, too.

  "Luke Toby Casteel, you don't know

  everything."

  After my reprimand, his face became soft, sad, like a little boy's face.

  "I know what I feel in my heart and what you feel in yours, and I know what that means."

  "I'm going to try anyway, and so should you," I repeated in a smaller voice. I turned away from him so he wouldn't see my tears. Luke dozed on and off for the remainder of the trip and I stared out the window at the tiny houses and highways below, once again wishing we lived in a Tatterton toy world where fantasies could come true.

  At the airport in Boston we rented a car and began the drive to Farthy. I couldn't help but remember Tony's excitement during my first journey to Farthy after I had been released from the hospital.

  He was so happy and eager to help me. How could I have ever anticipated what was soon to pass? Perhaps if Mommy had had a chance to tell me more about her past, I would have avoided the hardship and turmoil.