Casteel 01 Heaven Read online

  motioning for Logan to go or be thrown out.

  Logan glared at Pa. "You take good care of Heaven, Mr. Casteel."

  "Get out," Pa said with disgust, and slammed the door behind Logan.

  "Why'd that boy come?" he asked when I turned back to the stove, and Grandpa came stumbling in from the other room. "Did ya send fer him in some way, did ya?"

  "He came because he cares, and Miss Deale cares, and the whole world is going to care when they know what you've done, Luke Casteel!"

  "Thanks fer warning me," he said with a sneer. "I'm skerred, real skerred."

  He was worse after that, even more vigilant.

  I kept hoping and praying Logan would run into Fanny, and she'd tell him what was going on, and Logan would do something before it was too late. Yet, at the same time, I suspected Pa might have warned the Reverend to keep Fanny close until he had a chance to get rid of me.

  I'd read in the newspapers about adopted children selling for ten thousand dollars, and Pa was stupid enough not to ask for that much. But five times five hundred meant he'd have more money than he'd ever had in his entire life; a fortune to any hillbilly in the Willies who couldn't think as high as a thousand.

  "Pa," I said on the tenth day after Tom had gone, "how can you go to church every Sunday for most of your life, and do what you've done?"

  "Shut up," he said, his eyes hard as flat river stones.

  "I DON'T WANT TO SHUT UP!" I flared. "I want my brothers and sisters back! You don't have to take care of us. Tom and I found a way to support ourselves."

  "Shut up!"

  Oh, I hate you! my wild inner voice raged, even as my instinct warned me to keep quiet or be severely punished.

  "Others sell their kids," he said suddenly, taking me off guard, that he would speak--to me--as if trying to explain himself, when I'd thought he'd never do such a thing. "I'm not t'first, won't be t'last. Nobody talks bout it, but it happens all t'time. Poor people like us have more kids than the rich ones who can afford kids, an we who can't afford em, most of us don't know how t'keep from havin em . . . .When there's nothin else betta t'do orna, cold winter's night but go t'bed an take what pleasure ya kin with yer woman-- we make our own gold mines, our kids, our pretty younguns. So why not take advantage of the laws of nature's balance?"

  It was more than he'd said to me in my entire life. And he was well now, his cheeks were flushed with healthy color, no longer gaunt. Strong, high cheekbones--damned handsome face! If he died, would I feel sorry? No, I told myself over and over, not in a million years.

  Late one night I overheard him talking to Grandpa, saying all sorts of melancholy things about his life going to pot, kids holding him back, keeping him from reaching the goal he'd set for himself. "When I get all the money, Pa, it won't be too late. I'm going on t'do what I always wanted, and woulda done but fer her . . . an em . ."

  I stopped crying that night. Tears didn't do any good.

  I stopped praying for God to send back my brothers and sisters, stopped thinking Logan would be able to save me. I stopped betting on Miss Deale, and fate that had killed her mother, and lawyers who were holding her in Baltimore. I had to plan my own escape.

  Sunday the sun came out. Pa ordered me to dress in my best, if I had any best. My heart jumped, thinking he'd found a buyer. His hard eyes mocked me. "It's Sunday, girl, churchgoing time," he said, as if several Sundays hadn't come and gone without any Casteel showing up.

  Hearing the word "church," Grandpa immediately brightened. With stiff joints and many grunts and groans he managed to pull on his only fairly decent clothes, and soon we were ready for our trip into Winnerrow and church.

  The church bell chimed clear, resonant tones, giving me a certain false serenity, the sense that God was in his heaven and all was right with the world; as long as the church stood, the bell kept ringing, the people kept coming, kept singing, kept believing.

  Pa parked our truck far from the church (others had taken all the close parking places), and we walked the rest of the way, with him holding my arm in a viselike grip.

  Those already in the church were singing when we entered.

  "Bringin in the sheaves, Bringin in the sheaves, We shall go rejoicin,

  Bringin in the sheaves . . ."

  Sing, sing, sing. Make the day brighter, make it less cold, less forbidding. I closed my eyes, saw Our Jane's sweet small face. Kept them closed, heard Miss Deale's soaring soprano. Still keeping my eyes closed, I felt my hand clasped in Tom's, felt Keith tugging on my skirt, and then came that loud, commanding voice. I opened my eyes and stared up at him, wondering how he could buy a child and then call her his own.

  "Ladies, and gentleman, will you please stand and turn to page one hundred and forty-seven in your hymnbooks, then all together sing our most beloved hymn of all," instructed Reverend Wayland Wise.

  "And we walk with him,

  And we talk with him,

  And he tells us we are his own, And the voice we hear singin In our ears,

  No other has ever known, ."

  Singing made my heart lighter, happier, until I caught sight of Fanny sitting in the front pew next to Rosalynn Wise. Fanny didn't even glance around to see if any member of her "former" family was seated in a back pew. Maybe she hoped we wouldn't be there.

  I sucked in my breath when she turned her head in profile. Oh, how beautiful she looked in that white fur coat, with a hat to match, and a fur muff to stuff her hands into; even though the church was stiffing hot, still Fanny kept on all that fur and made sure that everyone behind glimpsed the muff at least once. She managed this by standing up from time to time, and excusing herself for one reason or another; then off to the right she'd stroll to a small hidden chamber, and in there she did something or other that took a few minutes, then slowly, slowly, she sauntered back to her pew, to primly take her place beside her new "mother."

  Of course this gave everyone a good view of all the new clothes Fanny wore. Including white boots with fur trim at the top.

  When the services were over, Fanny stood with Reverend Wise and his tall wife to shake hands with all the congregation, who considered themselves deprived if they didn't have the chance to shake the hand of the Reverend or his wife before they left to somehow endure six entire days of solid sinful living, only to come again to be forgiven. For it seemed the more you sinned during the week, the more the Lord above loved you for giving him so much to forgive.

  If the Lord loved sinners so much, he must really be thrilled to have Luke Casteel in his church. Why, if I were truly lucky he might glue Pa's feet to the floor and never let him go.

  Inch by slow inch we followed in the wake of everyone else. No one spoke to us, though a few mountain folk nodded. The cold wind whistled inside each time someone passed through the wide double doors. Everyone but me wanted to touch the hand of the spokesman of God here on earth, the handsome, smooth-talking Reverend Wise, and if not him, his wife . . . or his newly adopted daughter.

  Like a lovely princess was Fanny in her costly white fur and bright green velvet dress, displayed every time Fanny put one leg or another forward, shuffling like an idiot dancer just to show off. For one brief moment I forgot my loss, my predicament, and enjoyed Fanny's gain.

  But lo, when Fanny's own family showed up, she turned away, whispered something into the ear of Rosalynn Wise, and disappeared in the crowd.

  Pa sailed right on by, heading straight for the door without even pausing to turn his eyes on the Reverend or his wife. He had me by the arm, holding it with steely fingers. Nobody looked at the Casteels, or what was left of us.

  Grandpa followed Pa's lead obediently, his gray, almost bald head bowed and subservient, until I tore my arm away from Pa and dashed back to deliberately hold up the line as I fixed my most penetrating glare on Rosalynn Wise.

  "Will you kindly tell Fanny when you see her next that I asked about her?"

  "I will." Her voice was cold and flat, as if wishing I had followed Pa's example and ignor
ed her as he had. "And you tell your father not to come to this church, an we would all greatly appreciate if no Casteel ever came to services again."

  Shocked, I stared at the woman whose husband had just given his sermon about the Lord loving sinners and welcoming them into his home. "You have a Casteel living in your home, don't you?"

  "If you are referring to our daughter, her name has been legally changed to Wise. Louisa Wise is her name now."

  "Louisa is Fanny's middle name!" I cried. "You can't just change her names when her father is still living." Someone shoved me from behind.

  Suddenly I was forced by many hands out to the wooden steps. Alarmed and angry, I spun around to yell something or other about hypocrites, when I saw Logan Stonewall directly in front of me. But for him I would have confronted Reverend Wise himself, shouted out the whole truth to everyone here--but Logan was staring at me, through me. He didn't speak. He didn't smile either.

  It was as if he didn't want to see me! And I, who'd thought nothing could hurt me more after losing Sarah, Granny, Our Jane, Keith, and Tom, felt my heart plunge into a deep well of darkness. Of hopelessness.

  What had happened between the time he came to see me and now?

  Logan, Logan, I wanted to cry out, but pride reared its head, and I didn't say a word, just lifted my chin and strode on by the Stonewall family, who stood off in a separate little group of three.

  Pa seized hold of my arm again and dragged me away.

  That night, lying on the floor close to belching Ole Smokey, I heard the creak of the old pine floorboards as Pa got out of the brass bed and paced the small space of the other room. He stole as quietly as one of his Indian ancestors to where I lay very still. With my eyes half lidded, I could just see his bare feet, his bare legs. Pretending to turn in my sleep, I rolled over on my side, presenting him with my back, and curled up tighter in the old stained quilt.

  Did he kneel on the floor by the stove just so he could touch my hair? I felt something moving lightly over my head. He'd never touched me before. I froze, almost stopped breathing. My heart beat wildly; my eyes, unable to stay closed, popped open wide and staring. Why was he touching me?

  "Soft," I heard him murmur, "like hers. . . silky, like hers . . ."

  Then his hand was on my shoulder that had somehow worked its way free of the covering; that hand that had always battered me cruelly slid tenderly down my upper arm, and then back up, lingering where my shoulder joined my neck. For long, long moments I felt scared, holding my breath and waiting, waiting for something horrible to happen.

  "Luke . . . what ya doin?" Grandpa asked in an odd voice.

  Pa snatched his hand away.

  Pa hadn't hit me! Hadn't hurt me! I kept thinking as I lay there marveling at the kindness of that hand on my shoulder and arm. Why, after all these years, had he touched me lovingly--why?

  Grandpa's frail voice woke me near dawn. He was at the stove, heating water, giving me a few extra moments of sleep. I'd overslept, perhaps from worrying so late into the night.

  "I saw ya, Luke! I won't have it. I won't! Ya leave that chile be. There's a whole town of women t'take once ya know it's safe, but right now ya don't need a woman, or a girl."

  "She's mine!" Pa raged. "And I'm well now!" His face was red when I dared to take a peek. "Born of my seed . . . and I'll do what I damn well like with her. She's old enough, plenty old enough. Why, her ma wasn't but a little older when she married up with me."

  Grandpa's voice turned to a thin wind from the north. "I remember a night when all the world went dark fer ya, an it'll go even darker if ya touch that girl. Get her away from here, out of temptation's reach. She's no more fer ya than the other one was."

  Monday night Pa disappeared while I slept. He came back near dawn. I felt drugged when I woke up, heavy-hearted; dull-spirited, yet I got up to do what I always did, opening the iron stove door, shoving in more wood, putting on water to boil. Pa watched me closely, seeming to weigh my mood, or judge what I might do. When I looked again, Pa seemed reflective, as if trying to pull himself together, before he said in a strange, tight kind of voice, with better pronunciation than usual:

  "You, my sweet young thing, are going to have a choice. A choice not many of us have." He moved so I had to look at him or be trapped in a corner. "Down in the valley are two childless couples who have seen you from time to time, and it seems they both admire you, so when I approached them, saying you needed new parents, both couples were eager to have you. Soon they'll be coming. I could sell you to the highest bidder, but I won't."

  My eyes clashed with his defiantly, yet I could find nothing to say that would prevent him from doing what he wanted to do.

  "This time, I'm allowing you to choose just which set of parents you want."

  A certain kind of indifference fell like a cloak over me. Over and over again Grandpa's words echoed in my mind: "Get her away from here. . ." Even Grandpa didn't want me. As Fanny had shouted out, anyone, any place, would be better than here.

  Any house!

  Any parents!

  Grandpa wanted me to go. There he sat whittling on a figure, as if a thousand grandchildren could be sold away, and still he'd just sit and whittle.

  Thoughts of Logan Stonewall flitted like doomed moths to the candle of my burning despair. He wouldn't even meet my eyes. Wouldn't even turn his head to stare after me, as I'd hoped he would do. And even if his parents beside him had made him shy or embarrassed, still he could have managed a secret signal, but he hadn't made any. Why not? He'd trudged all the way up the mountainside. Had seeing inside the cabin shocked him to such an extent his feelings for me had changed?

  I don't care, I said to myself over and over. Why should I care? He wouldn't believe me when I told the truth.

  For the first time I truthfully believed maybe life would be better living with decent town folks. And when I was safely away from this place I'd find a way to search for those I loved.

  "You better get dressed," Pa said after I'd wiped the table clean and put away the floor bed pallets. "They'll be coming soon."

  I sucked in my breath, tried to meet his eyes, and failed. Better so, I told myself, better so. Without zest I looked through the boxes to find the best of what clothes I had. Before I put them on, I swept the cabin floor--and not once did Pa move his eyes from me.

  I made the bed, just as if this were another ordinary day. Pa didn't move his eyes from whatever I did. He made me self-conscious. Made me nervous. Made me clumsy and slow when usually I felt graceful and swift. Made me feel so many emotions I grew confused, reeling with my long-lived hatred for him.

  Two shiny new cars crawled into our dirt yard and parked one behind the other. A white car, a black car. The black one was long and luxurious-looking, the white one smaller, snazzier, with red seats.

  I was wearing the only dress Fanny hadn't taken, a simple shiftlike garment that had once been blue and was now gray from years of washings. Underneath I had on one of the two pairs of underpants I owned. I needed to wear a bra now, but I didn't own one. Quickly I brushed my hair; then I remembered the suitcase. I had to take that suitcase with me!

  Soon I had retrieved the cherished suitcase that held the treasures of my mother, and around it I wrapped several of Granny's handmade shawls.

  Pa's dark eyes narrowed when he saw me with the suitcase that had been hers. Still, he didn't say a word to stop me from taking my mother's belongings. I would have died to save them from his destruction. Maybe he guessed that.

  Twice Pa seemed to rip away his eyes from staring at my mouth. Was he seeing how much I looked like her, his dead angel? Inwardly I shivered. My own mother's lips, the doll mirrored--a doll in a wedding gown--a doll who looked no older than I did now.

  Deep in my thoughts, I didn't hear the raps on the door. Didn't glimpse the two couples who came in until they were there, in the middle of our largest room. Ole Smokey coughed and spat out smoke. Pa shook hands, smiling, acting like a genial host. I looked around, tryi
ng to see something I'd forgotten.

  Then came the silence. The long, awful silence as four sets of eyes turned on me, the item up for sale. Eyes that swept over me from head to feet, took my measurements, studied my face, hands, body, while I was caught in a web of darkness so intense I could hardly see them at all.

  Now I knew how Tom must have felt. Tom--I could feel him beside me, giving me strength, whispering his encouraging words. It'll be all right, Heavenly. . . don't it all work out in t'end, don't it?

  Pa spoke loud and sharp, making my eyes focus on an older couple who stood slightly in front of a younger one who held back considerately for the middle-aged couple to have the first chance at the sale merchandise. I edged backward toward a corner not so far from where Grandpa sat whittling.

  Look at me, Grandpa, see what your goodhearted son is doing! Stealing from you the only one you have left that loves you! Say something to stop him, Toby Casteel . . say it, say it, say it!

  He said nothing, only whittled.

  The gray-haired man and woman before me were tall and very distinguished, both wearing gray coats with suits underneath, as if they came from a foreign world, with education and intelligence an aura all around them. They didn't stare around the way the younger man and woman did at the shocking poverty and the pitifulness of Grandpa whittling and acting as if no one had come to call.

  Their bearing was arrogant, regal, their eyes kind as they looked at me pressed back against the wall, with panic in my face and heart. What my eyes must have shown flicked a shimmer of pity in the man's blue eyes, but the woman refused to show anything. She could have been thinking about the weather. I sighed again, swallowing the lump in my throat, or tried to, feeling trapped. I wished time would speed up, and it would be two years from now. But right at this moment my heart was thudding madly, drumming out a tune of fright in the cage of my ribs, making me feel weak in the knees and queasy in the stomach. I wanted Grandpa to glance upward and meet my eyes and do something to stop this, but I'd never succeeded in forcing Grandpa to do anything when Pa was around.