Gates of Paradise

by V. C. Andrews

  "Safe? Didn't you hear anything I said?"

  Drake stared at me a moment, his dark eyes glowing.

  "Luke's turned you against me . . he's filling you with all this gobbledygook about fantasy games. That's why you won't listen to the and--"

  "Stop blaming him. You're wrong about him. Luke has been wonderful, caring. He's even dropped out of summer school just to help me."

  "You would defend him; you always did. No matter what I said or told you, you found a way to justify him," he accused, like someone who had felt slighted all his life.

  "Drake." I reached out for him.

  "No!" He backed away from my bed, shaking his head. "Heaven would be on my side. She would. She didn't like to see you with him so much."

  "That's not true, Drake," I objected, though I knew it was.

  "It is true," he insisted. "She was worried; she knew. Well, I won't remain here and watch this or put up with it. When you come to your senses, call me and I'll drop everything or anything I'm doing, no matter how important, and come down here to fetch you and take you back where you belong. Farthy is yours; it's ours; it will all be ours!"

  "But I don't want it! I want what I have here, Drake. Farthy is not what you think. My mother was right. You were the one who didn't listen, not me. It's a . . . a graveyard full of sad memories. Don't go back there. Stay here. Work in the factory here and forget all that, Drake. Please," I begged.

  "No. It's going to be mine. . . all mine. Tony promised. He promised. Remember what I told you. When you come to your senses, call me."

  He turned and left my room.

  "Drake!"

  My scream died in an empty doorway. I buried my face in the pillow and sobbed. Drake looked so vicious, so angry. Gone was the kind of look a loving older brother would have. Gone was the softness in his eyes. Now his eyes were burning with jealousy and hate. All the Tatterton money and power and prestige had changed him. It was as if he had sold his soul to the Devil.

  Luke didn't come up to see me after Drake ran off in anger, so I didn't know if there had been any more terrible word between them. Mrs. Avery asked me if I wanted to have lunch in the dining room, but I was too upset to be with people, so Fanny brought it to me. I asked her where Luke was.

  "He said he had ta take a ride by himself ta think things ova. I didn't git in his way. When a Casteel man gits moody like that, it's best ta ignore him, If ya don't, they jist git mean and nasty."

  "I never saw Luke mean and nasty, Aunt Fanny."

  "Well. ya ain't seen him mad like I have. 'Course, I give him reason ta be mad sometimes. When he's with ya, he's different. Yer daddy's blood thinned out the hot Casteel blood, I guess, but ya neva know what kin happen. He'll go off and calm hisself down first."

  "As soon as Luke returns, please tell him to come see me, Aunt Fanny."

  She nodded and left me. To pass the time I went back to my last painting of Farthy, making the changes I thought would portray it more realistically. It was important for me to do that now, to put away some of my childhood fantasies. I added a man coming out of the maze. When I was finished and sat back, I saw that I had captured Troy's eyes, nose, and mouth so well, I was even impressed with my work myself. If ever I had been inspired, I was inspired now.

  The work restored my strength and calmed me down, so I decided to have dinner in the dining room. Aunt Fanny came with Mrs. Avery to take me. I was disappointed to find that Luke had still not returned. Although Roland had prepared roasted Cornish hen with cherry sauce, one of my favorite meals, and had made a sumptuous-looking chocolate cream pie, I had little appetite. I kept looking at the doorway, hoping that Luke would arrive. But he didn't.

  I watched a little television with Aunt Fanny, still keeping a part of my attention on the front door and listening keenly for the sound of a car driving up to the house, but the hours passed without Luke's return. Finally, tired and disappointed, I went to bed.

  I fell asleep in short cycles, waking with a start each time and listening to the familiar sounds in the house, longing to hear Luke's footsteps. Sometime after midnight I awoke because I felt Luke's presence, and sure enough, when I opened my eyes and looked up, I found him standing in the pool of moonlight at the side of my bed, staring down at me.

  "Luke, where have you been? Why did you stay away so long?" I cried. He stared down at me thoughtfully.

  "I went to the cabin in the Willies, Annie, to do some thinking," he said softly.

  "The cabin?" I sat up.

  "I used to go there a lot when I was younger," he said quickly. Then he frowned, unable to hide the anger that boiled under the surface. "Is Drake still here?"

  "No, he ran out. He's angry with me because I won't go back to Farthy and Tony," I explained.

  "I was never so mad at him. I was hoping he would take a swing at me so I could swing back," Luke said, his eyes becoming cold and small with determination. Then he must have realized how hard and hateful he appeared, for his face softened and he relaxed his shoulders. "I suppose it's in my blood, and his blood, too. My mother has often told me about the Casteel temper." He sat down beside me. And then he smiled the smile I knew and loved so: his eyes bright, his lips soft. "I wish I was more like you, Annie. We have the exact same heritage, Stonewall and Casteel, yet you're so different, so tolerant, patient and understanding."

  "Oh, Luke . . we don't have the exact same blood. Tony wasn't just babbling nonsense when we left Farthy. Modify wasn't a Casteel after all."

  His smile froze for a moment and then evaporated. "How do you know for certain. Tony's so confused . ."

  I told him all Aunt Fanny had told me. He listened with rapt attention, but nodding slowly as if he had expected to be told something like this someday.

  "So you're not my cousin and half brother, too. You're just my half brother," I concluded.

  "Annie," Luke said, shaking his head like some tired old man and then sighing, "our lives are so twisted and confused. It seems that you and I have been left to bear all the suffering a never-ending suffering."

  "I'll get better Luke. I will," I promised. He looked so defeated, so overwhelmed. He wasn't my old, determined Luke, unafraid of facing the "tallest mountains." If he lost hope and faith, what would I do?

  "I don't mean that kind of suffering, Annie." He looked down at his hands in his lap and then looked up. Even in the dim moonlight I could see that his eyes were wet with tears. "I was angry at Drake because he was so nasty to you, but I was even more angry at him because he . . . he said the truth. Annie . . ." Luke took my hand into his. "I can't help myself. I love you, and not like a half brother should love a half sister. I, love you like a man should love a woman."

  "Oh, Luke . . ." The walls between us crumbled in dust. My heart rose and fell. I couldn't help it. In my mind when Luke said the words aloud, he challenged the spell. He had done the forbidden and unleashed all the passion that had been waiting hopefully for just this moment, waiting for either of us to give in to what we truly felt.

  He took on that familiar decisive look, his eyes fixed on me, his jaw tight. "I decided in the cabin that I would come here and say it all. Drake was right. I did look at you with longing, with passion all these years. No other girl made me happy. It's why I never really had any girlfriends. I dream about you all the time. It's wrong, I know, but I can't help it. That's why I ran away. It's painful, Annie. It's really very painful."

  "Luke, I understand." I pulled myself up so that our faces were inches apart.

  "Do you?" he asked, with the look of someone who had always known.

  "I've had the same feelings, always had them, and they seem to have grown stronger since you came for me at Farthy," I confessed. For a long moment the air between us seemed more like a window through which we gazed into each other's eyes and against which we pressed our lips.

  "I thought so," Luke whispered, his hands moving up my arms to my shoulders. "I came so close to saying these things during the last day or so. I almost did it on the
gazebo."

  "So did I."

  My nightgown slipped over my shoulders and hung precariously against my upper arms. Half my bosom was already exposed, but I didn't feel embarrassed. Luke's fingers, as if they had minds of their own, traced along my collarbone. He sighed.

  "Oh, Annie, Nature has played such a dirty trick on us. I hate myself for loving you this way; but I don't know how to stop it, I don't even want to stop it!"

  "Luke, don't hate yourself. I can't help it, either, but I don't hate myself."

  "Annie . ."

  We could no longer keep our lips from touching. We both slipped through the imaginary window, and when his lips touched mine, my nightgown fell below my elbows and bared my breasts. His fingers traveled down to touch me. I moaned and searched for his lips again, but Luke pulled himself abruptly back.

  "No, Annie . . . no, no. We can't do this. Drake was right about me. I don't belong here; I can't stay here. Whatever undercurrent of evil that has run through the Casteels is running through me now, too. If I stay here with you, I won't be able to stop myself and we'll become like some of my hillbilly ancestors . . . incestuous, like animals, ugly."

  "Luke, we can't be ugly. This can't be wrong. I don't know why, but I feel it can't be."

  "You're too good for someone like me, Annie. You don't deserve to have any evil curses dropped over your head just because I can't control the foul passion that runs freely through my Casteel veins. I'm probably no better than my mother used to be. Drake was right about that.

  "I must stay away from you for a while, Annie, and let you get better and stronger emotionally as well as physically." He backed away from my bed.

  "No, Luke, I need you. Please, don't go." I reached out toward him, but he continued to back away.

  "I must. God bless you, Annie. Get well."

  He pivoted quickly and rushed out.

  "Luke!" I struggled to get out of the bed. My legs trembled. Even so, I forced them to hold me enough so I could work my way around my bed and grab my walker. Using it, I made my way to the bedroom doorway. I got there just in time to hear the front door open and close.

  "Luke!"

  "Annie! What's wrong?"

  Aunt Fanny rushed across the hallway.

  "Oh, Aunt Fanny, hurry. Luke's run out. Stop him. He blames himself for everything, for what happened between me and Drake. . . for . . . for everything."

  She nodded, but I saw she knew more than I thought.

  "It was bound ta happen, child. Like Heaven, I could see it comin', but I didn't know how ta stop it." She guided me back to my bed.

  "See it coming?" Did everyone know what we thought was kept so deeply secret in our own hearts?

  "Saw the way he always looked at ya, saw the way ya were togetha. I saw the light in ya eyes and the light in his'n and I knew what was growin' between ya."

  "Oh, Aunt Fanny, I didn't do it deliberately. I. . ." I sat on my bed, my hands in my lap, and shook my head.

  "I know, honey." She sat beside me and took my hand. "I know ya wouldn't have let anythin' happen if ya could stop it. Love jist gushed outta ya and outta him. Can't blame nurther of ya fer it. Ya were both drawn ta one another at an early age, and like two flowers in the forest, hidden from everyone's shoes and sight, yer love grew free and wild until ya entwined. Yet, it's all wrong, so ya got ta untwine. It's goin' ta be somethin' painful, and fer it ta happen atop'a all the rest, it's goin' ta be doubly hard fer ya, butIll be here ta help ya get through it, Annie."

  "But Luke," I cried. He had no one to help and to comfort him.

  "Ya got ta let him go his own way, Annie. I told ya. He ain't jist got Luke Casteel's name; he's got his blood. I loved ma pappy, but he was a man with a man's fire burnin' hot and heavy beneath those pretty eyes."

  "Aunt Fanny, I feel so sick inside, so empty and alone. I just can't stand it," I moaned. She put her arms around me and held me to her for a few moments. Then she kissed my forehead and held me out at arm's length.

  "Come on, Annie. I'll help ya back ta bed. Ya gotta think of yer own health now."

  I let her help me. After I was under the blanket again, she leaned down and kissed me on the forehead and stroked my hair just like my mother used to.

  "Git yerself some sleep, Annie. be here with ya and help ya till ya get yerself on yer feet again."

  "Thank you, Aunt Fanny."

  "Us women gotta stick together now," she said, smiling and straightening her shoulders to indicate we would tough it out together.

  She kissed me again and then she left me alone in the darkness with only the echo of Luke's voice beside me. I could still see his eyes close to mine.

  "It isn't ugly; it can't be ugly," I chanted, and fell asleep with the memory of his kiss still on my lips.

  TWENTY-THREE The Secret of the Cottage

  . The next week and a half was difficult for me. In some ways it was even harder than the time I had spent at Farthy. Not that anyone was cruel to me; far from it. All of the servants and my aunt Fanny couldn't have been more concerned, loving, and considerate. But now, so soon after I had lost my parents, I had lost Luke, the one person in the world who I thought would always be there for me, the one person who made the struggle and the pain worthwhile. He was gone, and I felt as dead and as lost inside as I had when I had lost my parents.

  Days were bleak and dark no matter how brightly the sun shone. I was forever cold and tired, wrapping my blankets around me and spending hours and hours simply staring up at the ceiling, not even wanting to put on the lights when twilight came. At times I felt numb, and at times I cried and cried until my chest ached. I cried myself to sleep, only to awaken to the realization that now all the people who had been close to me were gone. I had never felt so alone, not even when I was shut up in Farthy. At least when I was there, I still had my fantasies, my dreams.

  Now even the dreams were gone. There were no more fantasies to pass the dreary time away. What was even worse, my memories of Luke and myself now seemed tainted. We were living a forbidden love, and all that had once been wonderful and beautiful to remember now seemed evil and wrong. That tore my heart and filled me with agony.

  How horrible it was not only to lose the ones you love, but to lose the pleasure and joy of the memories of them as well. Fate had plundered my heart, come into my garden and plucked every blossoming flower, leaving only a plot of weeds and stems stripped naked of their beauty, their reason to be.

  Many of my parents' old friends paid belated condolence calls, belated because I had been too far away for them to do so before. I appreciated their sympathy, but each time someone visited, I relived the tragedy, felt my loss afresh.

  Some of my mother's friends broke into tears in my presence, and their sorrow cut into me sharply, opening wounds where scabs had formed.

  Nevertheless, I found myself being the stronger one and by necessity comforting them.

  "It's jist what Heaven would do," Aunt Fanny remarked after one such episode. "In a pinch no one was stronger than yer ma. I was the one whinin' and bitchin', but it was her and Torn got us the food when we was nearly starvin', and it was her who nursed and cared for Our Jane when she was sickly."

  These stories about my mother and stories like them gave me the determination and strength to work on my recuperation after Luke and Drake had run out on me. Aunt Fanny said Luke called frequently to ask about me, but each time she asked him if he wanted to speak to me, he told her he would speak to me another time. At least a half-dozen times I tried to compose a letter to him, but whenever I looked at what I had written, I tore it up because nothing seemed right, nothing expressed how I truly felt.

  Doc Williams stopped by often to check on my progress. My legs grew stronger every day, and he assigned me a physical therapist to help me build them up, until I reached the point where I no longer needed the walker. Doc Williams gave me a cane to use just to keep my balance. A few days later I navigated stairs by myself and finally went outside by myself and sat on the gazebo, t
hinking about all the things that had happened to me and Luke. Aunt Fanny came out after me, insisting I put on a sweater.

  "There's a chill in the air and ya still ain't fatted up ta where ya should be."

  Autumn had crawled in quietly under the shadows, moving around us like a sleek, cool cat. Suddenly one morning I noticed that the leaves were nearly all rust and gold.

  I remembered how much Mommy loved the fall. She told me it was especially pretty in the Willies. "I loved to wander through the forest then. Above me the trees were dazzling in the sunlight, the different trees different shades of yellow: amber, lemon, saffron; and different shades of brown: chestnut, ginger, and dark mahogany. Go to the forest in the fall, Annie," she told me, "and you'll get all your ideas for colors in your paintings."

  She was right about that, but thinking about the forest and walking through the woods only reminded me of Luke because we had done that so many times together. How I wished he was with me now, now that I was back on my feet. But he was back at college trying to forget.

  I began a painting of Luke. First, I drew the gazebo, and then I drew him standing in it, looking over the grounds thoughtfully. While I worked on my painting of him, I eased the pain of his being away from me some, but as soon as I drew closer to finishing it, I felt a terrible loss. I delayed completing it, finding this and that to do, adding a detail here and changing something there. But soon I had no more to do and no way to avoid finishing it. When I finally put down my brush and stood back, I loved and hated the painting at the same time.

  I had painted it from my heart and had captured him well, captured the way he always tilted his head a bit to the right whenever he grew deeply thoughtful, captured those strands of hair that always seemed to be over his forehead, captured the look in his eyes when he gazed at me and saw the love I had for him.

  But the picture teased and tormented me. It made me long to hear his voice and feel his presence. This was the artist's passion and agony as well, I thought, to fall in love with what you create and yet never to truly possess.