Heaven (Casteel Series #1) Read online

  "All right," he said to me with a touching sad smile, "I'll go on, an really try to learn enough for two, so I can teach you when I'm home. But wouldn't it be better if I could tell Miss Deale, and then she could write assignments for you to complete—wouldn't it be, Heavenly?"

  "If you make sure she doesn't know we are alone up here, suffering, hungry, cold, miserable. We don't want her to know that, do we?"

  "Would it be so awful? Maybe she could help .

  . ." he said tentatively, as if afraid I'd blow.

  "Look, Tom, Miss Deale earns what Logan calls a pittance, and she'd spend it all on us, she's so generous. We can't let her do that. Besides, didn't she give all of us a lecture one day in class, saying poverty and hardships made for strong backbones and hearty characters? Boy, are we going to end up with iron spines and sturdy, unbreakable characters!"

  He stared at me with great admiration. "Boy, you sure got character right now, and an iron spine as well! If you had any more, we really might starve to death."

  Each and every day Tom trudged off to school, his homework completed to perfection. Nothing stopped him, not the cold drenching rains, the sleet, the wind, or the cold. Like the mail, he went, regardless. He walked to and fro, never having the appropriate clothing to wear. He needed a new winter jacket to keep him warm; no money for that. He needed new shoes and high boots to keep his feet dry, for the shoes Pa had brought didn't fit anybody.

  Sometimes, to escape the dreary sameness of the cabin, Fanny trailed behind Tom, sitting in class and learning nothing, but it did give her time to flirt with the boys. Keith went to school when Our Jane was so sick she didn't scream to see him go.

  We still took baths on Saturday nights, with the tin tub pulled close to the fire. Our hot water, drawn from the well, heated on the stove so we could also wash our hair. We were getting ready for the only fun event we had left to enjoy: going to church.

  Every Sunday morning when the weather was

  halfway decent, at dawn we set out, wearing our pitiful best.

  Tom carried Our Jane half the way. I'd help her walk the rest, or pick her up myself. If she hadn't had visions of ice-cream cones in her head, I don't think she would have gone so willingly. Keith skipped and danced alongside whoever was in control of his most beloved possession, his sister. Fanny always raced on ahead. Way behind, the last of all, trudged Grandpa, slowing us down more than Our Jane did. Grandpa used a walking cane now, and often Tom had to drop back to help Grandpa over some fallen tree or boulder. The last thing we needed was for Grandpa to fall and break a bone.

  It took one or two hours for Grandpa to make the descent into the valley, and that meant four of us were out in the cold that long just to keep him company. The fifth, Fanny, was snug inside the church long before we got there, hidden in some dark cubbyhole, enjoying forbidden adult delights. Tom hunted her up immediately, smacked the boy she was with, dragged Fanny away, made her straighten her skirt, and we all arrived late, as usual the last to enter, and were the objects of the all-over scrutiny that told us again we were the worst of the hill folks, the scummiest of the scum, the Casteels.

  But to go to that small white church with the high steeple gave us hope. It was born in us to believe, to have faith, to trust.

  As arduous as these Sunday excursions were for all of us, going to church gave us not only pleasure but much to talk about during our long lonely times.

  To sit in the back pew and look around and see all the prettily dressed people, to feel just a small part of the human race for a few hours, helped us to endure the tortures of the rest of the week.

  I tried to avoid Miss Deale, who didn't always come to church, but this particular day she was there, turning to smile at us with relief in her pretty eyes, welcoming us with her gestures to sit next to her.

  Sharing the hymnbook with me, in glorious

  celebration of life Miss Deale raised her beautiful voice and sang. Our Jane lifted her small face and gazed at Miss Deale with such rapt adoration it made tears come to my eyes. "How ya do that?" she whispered once we were seated and Reverend Wise was at the podium.

  "We'll discuss singing after church," whispered Miss Deale, leaning to lift Our Jane and hold her on her lap. From time to time I'd see her gazing down at Our Jane, touching her silky hair, tracing a delicate finger over Our Jane's sweet cheek.

  To stand and hold the hymnbooks and sing was the best part of all. The worst came when we had to sit still and listen to all those frightening sermons about deeds that were so sinful. Christmas was just around the corner, inspiring Reverend Wayland Wise to be his most fervent, which meant his fire-and-brimstone sermons that gave me nightmares as bad as being in hell.

  "Which one of you hasn't sinned? RISE UP and let us stare in awe, in admiration—and disbelief! We are ALL sinners! Born from sin! Born through sin!

  Born into sin! And we will DIE in sin!"

  Sin was all around us, inside us, lurking in the corners, in the dark side of our natures, sure to catch us.

  "GIVE AND YE SHALL BE SAVED!" yelled Reverend Wise, pounding his fist on the podium and making it shake. "Give and ye shall be delivered from Satan's arms! Give to the poor, the needy, the beset and bereft . . . and from the river of your gold all goodness shall flow back into your own lives. GIVE, GIVE, GIVE!"

  We had a little change that Tom had earned doing odd jobs for valley wives, but it sure was gonna hurt giving up any of it in hopes of that river of gold flowing uphill to us.

  Sitting on Miss Deale's lap, Our Jane coughed, sneezed, needing someone to help her blow her nose, to go to the bathroom. "I'll do that," I whispered, leading her out to where she could again be held in thrall by the pretty ladies' room with its row of pure white basins, its liquid soaps, its paper hand towels.

  She entered a tiny compartment where she could sit and not smell "bad" odors, and then had the pleasure of flushing the toilet. A real compulsion she had to keep dropping in paper so she could watch it go down, flushing and flushing. When we returned, I refused to let her sit on Miss Deale again and wrinkle that pretty suit. Our Jane complained her feet hurt in shoes that were too small, and it was too cold in here, and why did that man up there yell and take so long to finish talking? And when did we stand to sing again? Our Jane loved to sing, though she couldn't carry a tune.

  "Sssh," I cautioned, lifting my sweetest little one up on my lap. "It will soon be over, and we'll sing again, and then we can have ice cream in the store."

  For an ice-cream cone Our Jane would have

  walked on red-hot coals.

  "Who's gonna pay for it?" Tom whispered worriedly. "We can't let Miss Deale do it again. And we won't have any cash left if we drop our change into t'collection plate."

  "Don't drop it in. Just pretend you do. We're the poor, the needy, the beset and bereft—and rivers don't flow upward, do they?"

  Tom reluctantly agreed, though he would have been willing to gamble on God's generosity. We did have to keep what money we had left to buy Keith and Our Jane their ice cream, if nothing else. At least we could do that for them.

  The collection plate was passed down our aisle.

  "I'll pay for all of us," whispered Miss Deale when Tom reached into his pocket. "You keep what you have for yourselves"—and darn if she didn't drop in two whole dollars!

  "Now," I whispered when the last hymn was over and Miss Deale was standing and collecting her purse, pulling on her fine leather gloves, picking up her personal hymnbook and Bible, "head fast for the door, and don't hesitate for anything!"

  Our Jane resisted, dragging her feet. Quickly I swept her up, and she let out a howl. "ICE CREAM!

  Hey-lee, ICE CREAM!" And that gave Miss Deale the chance to catch up with us as we slipped by Reverend Wise and his grim wife.

  "Stop, wait a minute!" called Miss Deale, hurrying after us, her high heels clicking on the slippery pavement.

  "It's no use, Tom," I whispered as he tried to support Grandpa and keep him from falling. "Let's mak
e up good excuses so she won't fall and break a leg."

  "Oh, thank goodness," gasped Miss Deale when we turned to wait for her. "What do you mean hurrying off when you know I promised Our Jane and Keith ice cream? Don't the rest of you still like treats?"

  "We'll always adore ice cream!" Fanny declared fervently, as Our Jane stretched her arms toward her ice-cream godmother. Like a burr Our Jane clung to our teacher.

  "Now let's all go where it's warm, and sit and relax, have some fun." Miss Deale turned and led the way back toward Stonewall's Pharmacy, with Keith skipping along, din: g to her free hand, and Fanny was almost as childish-acting as Keith and Our Jane . . .

  and just a few minutes ago she'd been ready to seduce some pimply-faced valley boy if he'd give her a quarter.

  "And how is your father?" called back Miss Deale, turning into the drugstore. "I haven't seen him lately."

  "He'll come home one day," I said in a forbidding way, hoping and praying she'd never hear about his disease.

  "And your mother, Sarah, why didn't she come today?"

  "She's home, not feeling so well, just resting."

  "Tom told me you've been ill; you look fine, though much thinner."

  "I'll be coming back to school, soon. ."

  "And Keith and Jane, when will they be coming back?" she persisted, her sky-blue eyes narrowing suspiciously.

  "Both have been kinda sickly lately. . ."

  "Heaven, I want your honesty. I'm your friend.

  A friend is someone you can depend on, always, who is there to help when you need it. A friend understands. I want to help, need to help, so if there's anything at all that I can do, I want you or Tom to tell me what you need. I'm not rich, but I'm not poor, either. My father left me a small inheritance when he died. My mother still lives in Baltimore, and isn't feeling too well lately. So, before I go home for the Christmas holidays, I want you to tell me what I can do to help make your lives happy and more bearable."

  Here was my golden chance. Opportunity

  seldom knocked twice on any door—but pride tightened my throat and froze my tongue, and because I didn't speak out, neither did Tom, or Grandpa. Fanny the bold and shameless had, fortunately or unfortunately, wandered away to flip through pages of magazines.

  And while I stood just inside the door, debating the wisdom of confessing everything, Miss Deale turned to stare at Grandpa sitting so dejectedly on a padded bench behind a small table. "Poor dear man, he misses his wife, doesn't he?" she asked with so much compassion. "And you must miss her just as much." Then she was meeting my eyes and smiling warmly. "I've just had the most marvelous idea—ice cream is fine, but not a real meal. I'm planning to have lunch in a restaurant. And I hate eating alone, it makes everyone stare-- please do me the honor of joining me, and that will give you time to tell me what's been going on in your lives."

  "We'd love To!" Fanny shouted eagerly.

  Suddenly she was there, her smile a yard wide. She had the nose of a bloodhound for a free meal.

  "Thank you very much, but I'm afraid we can't accept," I said briskly, caught in my own snare of devilish stubbornness, all the time wishing I could throw away my pride and be like Fanny. "It was very nice of you to ask, more than kind, but we have to get home before dark."

  "Don't ya listen t'her, Miss Deale," yelled Fanny. "We're hungry since Pa went away! Ma's gone, Granny's dead, an it will take Grandpa t'rest of this day t'make t'trip back. An when we get there we won't have nothin much t'eat. An it will be dark fore we reach there!"

  "But Pa's coming back any day," I hurriedly added. "Isn't he, Tom?"

  "Yeah, any day," confirmed Tom, looking wistfully at the restaurant across the street. It was one we'd often stared into, wishing that just once we could sit at a round table with a crisp white tablecloth, with a crystal vase holding a single red rose, with waiters wearing black and white, and pretty chairs with red velvet seats; oh, how lovely the combination of white, red, and gold. How clean and perfumy it must smell in there, not to mention how warm it had to be, and how delicious the food would surely be.

  "And your mother is gone. ?" questioned Miss Deale with a strange look on her pretty face. "Now, I've heard rumors about town that say she has gone for good. Is that true?"

  "Don't know," I answered shortly. "She may change her mind and come back. She's like that."

  "SHE AIN'T LIKE THAT!" yelled Fanny.

  "She's neva comin back! She left a note an said so. Pa read it an got madder'n hell! Then he ran out t' get her.

  . . an we're suffering, Miss Deale, all of us . . . ain't got no ma, ain't got no pa, an not eva got enough food t'eat, or warm clothes t'wear, an half t'time no wood t'buris--- why , it's awful, downright awful!"

  I could have shot Fanny dead on the spot.

  Fanny had screamed out our humiliating condition right in the drugstore where perhaps twenty pairs of ears heard every word she said.

  I stood with my face flushed, wishing I could sink through the floor or go up in smoke, so embarrassed and ashamed to have all our secrets exposed. It was like being naked in public. I wanted to stop Fanny, who went on and on telling more about our lives and family secrets. Then I glanced over at Grandpa, and back at Keith and Our Jane, and sighed heavily. What was pride when compared to seeing huge eyes sunken in deep, hungry hollows? What kind of fool was I to reject the kindness of this wonderful, caring woman? An idiot, I decided. Fanny had ten times more sense.

  "Come now, Heaven, if Fanny wants to eat in a restaurant, and Tom looks as if he would as well, and Jane and Keith are so thin, should you vote against the majority? You are outvoted, and it's decided. The Casteel family are my dinner guests this Sunday, and every Sunday until your father is back to take care of you all."

  Oh, I had to swallow to keep from crying.

  "Only on the condition that you allow us to repay you someday when we can."

  "Why, of course, Heaven."

  Fate had stepped in, wearing an expensive suit with a mink collar—and when fate came dressed like that, who could resist?

  Like Moses leading his starving horde, Miss Deale strode across Main Street, with Our Jane clinging devotedly to her gloved hand. Prouder than one of those peacocks-I'd never seen, she entered that fancy restaurant where men in black and white stared at us as if we were circus freaks they fervently hoped would vanish. Other diners stared, wrinkled their noses, and looked contemptuous, but Miss Deale smiled at everyone.

  "Why, good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Holiday,"

  she greeted pleasantly, nodding to a handsome-looking couple dressed as finely as she was, "how nice to see you again. Your son is doing marvelously in school. I know you're proud of him. It's so wonderful to have a family to dine with me." She sailed like a ship knowing its home port, despite the ragged line behind her, heading toward the best table in the restaurant.

  Once there, she arrogantly gestured to an

  astonished older man to seat us properly as she explained to us, "This table has the best view of your mountain."

  I was overwhelmed, scared, embarrassed. In a fancy gold chair with crimson velvet covering the seat and back, I sat as if in a dream of royal riches. Our Jane's nose was running again. Tom quickly grabbed at Keith and asked directions to the nearest men's room. Fanny smiled at everyone as if she truly belonged here, no matter how shabby she looked.

  Before Fanny would even sit, as the waiter held her chair, she tugged off her three sweaters one by one.

  Every pair of eyes in the place watched with astonishment and dismay, no doubt thinking Fanny would strip to her skin—as did I. However, Fanny stopped at her shabby dress and smiled brilliantly at Miss Deale.

  "Neva felt so happy in my whole miserable life as I do right now."

  "Why, Fanny, that's sweet, and hearing you say that makes me feel just as happy."

  Keith was not as fond of flushing as was Our Jane, and he and Tom came rushing back as if afraid they'd miss something wonderful. Tom beamed at me happily. "Some Christmas trea
t, right, Heavenly, right?"

  Oooh, yes! Christmas was only five days away.

  I stared at the tall, splendid tree in the corner, at the poinsettias placed around the room. "Ain't it pretty, though, Heaven?" Fanny said much too loudly.

  "When I'm rich an famous I'll lunch like this every day, every day in t'year!"

  Miss Deale beamed at all of us in turn. "Now, isn't this nice? Much better than you going your way and me going mine. You can each tell me what you'd like most. We'll start with you, Mr. Casteel."

  "I'll jus have what t'rest of ya does," muttered Grandpa, appearing overwhelmed and ill at ease. He kept trying to hide his mouth with his hand, afraid others would see his missing teeth, his watery eyes still downcast, as if still awed to be seated where he was.

  "Miss Deale," Fanny said without hesitation,

  "ya pick out t'best there is, what ya like most, an that's what we all want. An dessert. Jus leave out t'collards, t'biscuits an gravy."

  Even after that Miss Deale managed to keep her compassionate expression.

  "Yes, Fanny," she concluded, "a very good idea, I must say, for me to select what I like most for all of you. Now, is anyone here who doesn't like beef?"

  Beef! We never had beef at home, and it would put color in the cheeks of Our Jane and Keith.

  "Love beef!" Fanny cried with loud, lusty passion. Grandpa nodded, Our Jane sat looking wide-eyed all around, and Keith had his eyes on his small sister, while Tom just glowed.

  "Anything you like will suit us just fine," I said humbly, everlastingly grateful to be here, and at the same time so afraid we'd shame her yet with our bad table manners.

  Miss Deale lifted her napkin, which was folded like a flower, and shook it open, then slipped it over her lap. I quickly did the same, even as I kicked Fanny's shin under the table, and helped Keith with his napkin, as Miss Deale helped Our Jane with hers.

  Grandpa somehow managed to catch on and did the same; so did Tom. "Now, for the first course we should have salad or soup. The entrée will be meat and vegetables. If you'd rather have seafood, lamb, pork, speak up now."