Gates of Paradise (Casteel Series #4) Page 2

  pretend such things."

  "I tried to stop them," Drake said. "They play this silly fantasy game."

  "It's not so silly," I protested. "Everyone fantasizes."

  "They act like grade-school children

  sometimes," Drake insisted. "Luke encourages her."

  "What?" Luke looked at my mother, his eyes lighting with fear. I knew how important it was to him that she like him. "No he doesn't," I cried. "It's just as much my fault."

  "Oh, please, let's not dwell on it," Mother pleaded. "If you must pretend, there are so many wonderful subjects, places, things to think about," she added, changing her tone of voice to a lighter, happier one. She smiled at Drake. "You look so collegiate in your Harvard sweater, Drake. I bet you're anxious to get back," she said, and then turned to Luke. "I hope you'll be as excited about college as Drake is, Luke."

  "I will. I'm looking forward to going." Luke glanced at my mother and then quickly turned back to me. For as long as I could remember, there was that shyness in Luke whenever he was in my mother's company. He was normally shy anyway, but he was afraid to have her catch him staring at her, and I couldn't remember him having long conversations with her, or with Daddy for that matter, even though I knew how much he admired them.

  "Well, it's wonderful how well you have done in school, Luke," she told him, hoisting her shoulders back and raising her head with what some in town called "her defiant Casteel pride." I knew most of the women in Winnerrow were jealous of her. Besides being beautiful, she was a successful businesswoman.

  There wasn't a man who didn't adore her and respect her for being as efficient as she was sweet. "We are all proud of you."

  "Thank you, Heaven," he replied, brushing his hair back and pretending interest in his textbook while his heart was bursting with happiness.

  Suddenly he looked at his watch.

  "Didn't realize the time," he said. "I'd better be heading home."

  "I thought you were going to eat with us tonight," I protested before he could step away.

  "Of course you should eat with us tonight, Luke." My mother looked with adoration at Drake.

  "It's Drake's last night home before his return to college," she said. "Would Fanny mind?"

  "No." A subtle, sarcastic smile appeared at the corners of Luke's mouth. "She won't be home tonight."

  "Okay then," my mother said quickly. She didn't want to hear the details. All of us knew about Fanny's escapades with younger men, and I knew how much it embarrassed and bothered Luke. "It's settled.

  I'll have another place set."

  She turned, her eyes resting for a long moment on my canvas. I looked at it and then quickly turned to her to see if there was any sign of recognition in her face. She tilted her head slightly, her eyes suddenly far off as if she had been serenaded by a distant song.

  "It's not finished yet," I said quickly, afraid she might say something critical. Even though both she and Daddy had been very supportive of my painting ever since I had begun, paying for all the less() s, providing me with the best brushes and paints, I couldn't help but feel insecure. Daddy had such wonderful artisans in his factory, some of the most talented people in the country. He knew what real art was.

  "Why don't you paint a picture of the Willies, Annie?" She turned and pointed toward the mountains. "I'd love to hang something like that in the dining room. The Willies in spring with its blossoming forests full of birds; or even in fall with the rainbow colors of the leaves. You do so well when you paint a scene in nature."

  "Oh Mommy, my work isn't good enough to be displayed. Not yet anyway," I said, shaking my head.

  "But you have it in you, Annie." Her blue eyes softened with love and reassurance. "It's in your blood," she whispered, as though she were saying something blasphemous.

  "I know. Great-grandpa whittled wonderful rabbits and forest creatures."

  "Yes." My mother sighed, the memories bringing a soft smile to her face. "I can still see him, sitting on the porch of the shack, whittling away for hours and hours, taking a shapeless piece of wood and turning it into a lifelike little forest creature. How wonderful it is to be artistic, Annie, to come to a blank canvas and create something beautiful on it."

  "Oh, Mommy, I'm really not that good yet.

  Maybe I'll never be," I cautioned, "but I can't stop wanting to be."

  "Of course you will be good, and you can't stop wanting to do it because . . . because of your artistic heritage." She paused as if she had just told me some great secret. Then she smiled and kissed me on the cheek.

  "Walk in with me, Drake," she said. "I have some things I'd like to discuss before I forget and you're off to college."

  Drake stepped over first and gazed at my

  painting.

  "I was just kidding you before, Annie. It's good," he said, practically under his breath so my mother wouldn't hear. "I know how you feel, wanting to see bigger and better things than Winnerrow. Once you leave this one-horse town," he added, turning a little toward Luke, "you won't have to spend your time pretending you're somewhere else."

  With that he joined my mother. She threaded her arm through his and they started toward the front of Hasbrouck House. Something Drake said made her laugh. I knew Drake occupied a special place in her heart because he reminded her so much of her father.

  She loved walking through Winnerrow with him, arm in arm.

  Sometimes I would catch Luke staring at them together, a look of longing in his face, and I understood how much he wanted to have a real and complete family. It was part of the reason he loved coming over to Hasbrouck House, even if he only sat quietly and watched us. Here there was a father, the father he never had, but should have had, and here there was a mother he would have rather had.

  I felt Luke's eyes on me and I turned around.

  He was staring at me, a troubled, sad look on his face, as if he could read my thoughts and knew how sad I felt for all of us sometimes, despite our wealth and position in Winnerrow. Sometimes, I found myself envying much poorer families because their lives seemed so much simpler than ours . . no secret pasts, no relatives to be ashamed of, no half brothers and half uncles, not that I would trade away anyone in my family. I loved them all. I even loved Aunt Fanny. It was as if we were all victims of the same curse.

  "Do you want to continue with your painting, Annie?" Luke asked, his blue eyes bright, hopeful.

  "You're not tired?"

  "No. Are you?" he asked.

  "I never get tired of painting and I never get tired of painting you," I added.

  TWO

  Birthday Gifts

  .

  Luke's and my eighteenth birthday was a very special day for us both. My parents came into my room that morning to wake me. Daddy had bought me a gold locket with his and Mommy's pictures in it. It was on a twenty-four-carat gold chain and glittered brighter than any charm. He put it on me and kissed me and hugged me so hard, my heart fluttered. He saw the look of surprise on my face.

  "I can't help it," he whispered. "You're a young lady now and I'm afraid I'm losing my little girl."

  "Oh Daddy. I'll never stop being your little girl," I cried.

  He kissed me again and held me to him snugly until Mommy cleared her throat.

  "I have something I would like Annie to have now," she announced. I couldn't believe what she had in her hand: something I knew was more important to her than the most expensive jewels she had. In fact, I couldn't think of any possession that was more precious to her, and now she was going to give it to me!

  I thought about the days when I was a little girl before I was old enough to begin school. I remem-

  bered my mother spent what seemed to me to be hours and hours brushing my hair in her room by her vanity table while we listened to the music of Chopin. She would take on this dreamy look, a small smile playing on her beautifully shaped lips.

  Near us on another, but much smaller table, was what I used to call her dollhouse, even though it wasn't really
a dollhouse; it was one of the few examples of a Tatterton toy we had in our home. It was a replica of a toy cottage with a maze of hedges near it. I wasn't permitted to touch it, but sometimes, she would take the roof off and let me look at the inside. There were two people in there, a man and a young girl. The man was sprawled on the floor, his hands behind his head, looking up at the young girl, who seemed to be listening intently to something he was saying.

  "What is he saying to her, Mommy?" I asked.

  "He's telling her a story."

  "What kind of a story, Mommy?"

  "Oh, a story about a magical world where people are always snug and warm, where there is only beauty and kindness."

  "Where is this world, Mommy?"

  "For a while it was in the cottage."

  "Can I go to that world, too, Mommy?"

  "Oh, my darling, sweet Annie. I hope so."

  "Were you there, Mommy?"

  I could still see her face just before she answered me. Her eyes brightened bluer than the sky ever was, and the smile on her lips widened and deepened until her whole face grew softer and more beautiful. She looked like a little girl herself

  "Oh yes, Annie, I was. Once."

  "Why did you leave, Mommy?"

  "Why?" She looked around as if the answer were written down on a piece of paper she had left somewhere. Then she swung her eyes back to me, the tears glistening over them, arid she embraced me.

  "Because, Annie, because it was too wonderful to bear."

  Of course, I never understood and still couldn't.

  How can something be too wonderful to bear?

  But I didn't think more about it. I wanted to look in at the tiny furniture and dishes. They were so perfect, I wanted to touch them. But I was forbidden to do that because everything was too fragile.

  And now she was giving it to me. I looked at Daddy. His eyes were small as he stared intensely at the cottage. I never knew what it meant to him.

  "Mommy, no. It means so much to you," I protested.

  "And so do you mean so much to me, honey,"

  Mommy said, handing me the cottage. I took it into my hands carefully, lovingly, and quickly put it safely down on my dresser.

  "Oh thank you. I"ll cherish it always," I said, knowing I would not only because it had been so special to her, but because whenever I was permitted to look in at the man and the woman, I thought about Luke and myself running off and living happily ever after in such a cottage.

  "You're welcome, honey."

  My parents stood there smiling at me, both looking so young and happy. What a wonderful morning to awaken, I thought. I wished my eighteenth birthday would go on and on forever, that my whole life was just one long, happy day when everyone was in a pleasant and glorious mood and all of us were kind to one another.

  After they left, I took a shower and dressed and stood before my closet, spending time considering what I would wear on such a special morning. I decided to wear the pink angora sweater and white silk skirt, an outfit similar to the one the young girl in the toy cottage wore.

  I brushed my hair down and pinned it back at the sides and put on very light pink lipstick. Happy with myself, I rushed out of my room and bounced down the soft, blue carpet stairs. As if all the world were celebrating my birthday, the sun was shining with a rich golden splendor. Even the leaves and long, spidery thin branches on the weeping willow trees just outside the front windows looked translucent. Everything green was greener. Every flower that had blossomed was brighter. The world was full of color and warmth.

  I stopped at the foot of the stairs because there wasn't a sound in the house . . . no one talking, no servants moving about.

  "Hello? Where is everybody?"

  I went into the dining room. The table was set for breakfast, but there was no one there. I looked in the living room and sitting room and den, but there was no one in any of those rooms. Drake, who had come home from college the night before, just for my birthday, wasn't even up and about.

  "Mother? Daddy? Drake?"

  I even went into the kitchen. The coffeepot was perking, eggs were scrambled and readied for the skillet, slices of bread were in the toasters ready to be pushed down to be toasted, the juice was poured into glasses and placed on the silver trays, but there was no one in the kitchen. Where was Roland Star, our cook, or Mrs. Avery, our maid? And I hadn't seen Gerald Wilson, our butler, in the hallways or standing quietly in a corner.

  "What is going on here?" I smiled with confusion and excitement. Finally, I went to the front door and opened it to look out.

  There they were: my mother, my father, Drake, the servants, and standing off to the side, Luke, all of them with this Cheshire cat smile on their faces.

  "What's going on here?" I asked, and started out. "Why are you . ."

  And there it was. Somehow, the night before, my father had snuck a brand-new Mercedes

  convertible onto the driveway. It was light blue with sparkling aluminum wheels. They had it wrapped in two large pink ribbons. Before I could say anything, they all broke out into a rendition of "Happy Birthday." A lump came to choke my throat as I walked around and around the car and saw the license plate with my name.

  "Happy birthday, Annie honey," my mother said. "May you have many, many more as happy as this one."

  "I don't thank that's possible," I cried. "How could I ever be happier than this? Thank you, everyone."

  I kissed Daddy and hugged Drake.

  "I don't know about anyone else," my father announced, "but I'm starving."

  Everyone laughed and the servants filed past, kissing me and wishing me a happy birthday as they all went back to their duties. Only Luke lingered behind. I knew no matter how he was treated, he always felt like an outsider.

  "Come along, Luke," my mother called, seeing how he remained just where he had been standing.

  "Logan and I have something special for you, too."

  "Thank you, Heaven."

  My mother looked at Luke and then at me and then joined the others. Luke didn't move.

  "Come on, silly," I said. "It's our special day."

  He nodded.

  "What a beautiful car."

  "We'll take a ride in it right after breakfast, okay?"

  "Sure," he said, but he looked confused.

  "Heaven invited my mother, but she has a hangover. I don't know if she's going to make it," he explained.

  "Oh Luke, I'm sorry." I took his hand. "Let's not let anything make us sad today, and if anything does, we'll go right to the gazebo and travel away from it."

  That made him smile. When we were very little, we would spend a lot of time there. It became a special place for us, a center for our fantasies. Without ever coming out and saying so, we understood that whenever we wanted to do or say something special, we would go to the gazebo.

  Stepping up the three steps was like rising up out of the real world. It was a large gazebo, with a circular bench attached to the railings. My parents had had it repainted a bright white and green. There were small lanterns spaced along the ceiling beams so at night it could be lit up, something Luke and I thought made it even more magical.

  We were practically the only ones to ever use it.

  It was more like a decorative piece. I couldn't remember a time my father had ever been in it. Drake never cared for sitting in it. He would much rather sit in the study, even on sunny warm days. Unless, of course, I wanted to go out there and he had nothing else to do. Then he would go along, but complain endlessly about the bugs or the hard wooden benches.

  "We've got to go there anyway," Luke said.

  "I've got something for you," he added.

  "And I've got something for you. See? This will be a wonderful day. Happy birthday."

  "Happy birthday, Annie."

  "Good. Now let's eat. I'm starving. All this excitement made me hungry."

  He laughed and we rushed into Hasbrouck

  House.

  Luke was wrong about his mother. Aunt Fanny m
ade one of her usual dramatic entrances. We had all just sat down to have breakfast when she came bursting through the front door.

  "Jist like ya all not ta wait for me," she declared, her hands on her hips. She was wearing a wide-brim black satin hat with a bright green ribbon and had her hair pinned up. Luke must have been right about her hangover because she wore her sunglasses in the house. Aunt Fanny often wore something outlandish, especially whenever she visited us. I thought she was just trying to annoy Mommy, but my mother never seemed to pay much attention to Fanny's clothing. Today she wore a dark green, short leather skirt and leather vest over a frilly pink blouse. All her colors made her look like a Christmas tree.

  "We are sitting down nearly a half hour late as it is, Fanny," Mommy said.

  "Oh, are ya?" She swept her hat from her head in one motion and sighed. Then she stepped forward and pulled out the gift-wrapped box that was snugly under her right arm. "Happy birthday, Annie darlire."

  "Thank you, Aunt Fanny." I took it gracefully and turned to the side so I could unwrap it without disturbing the table. Daddy sat stone faced, his hands folded, his chin against them. Luke looked down at the table and shook his head. Drake wore a wide smile. Of all of us, Drake enjoyed Aunt Fanny the most. I think she knew that because she always looked his way and winked as if there was something special between them.

  Her gift was rather unique and quite unex-

  pected—a hand-carved, ivory jewelry box that played

  "Memories" from the musical Cats when it was opened. Mommy's eyes widened. She was impressed.

  "That's beautiful, Fanny. Where did you get it?"

  "Got somethin' you couldn't git in Winnerrow, Heavenly. Sent a. . . gentleman friend of mine ta New York City, specially fer ya, Annie."

  "Oh thank you, Aunt Fanny."

  I kissed her and she beamed.

  "Luke's gift is home. Too big ta carry around.

  Got him his own color TV."

  "Oh. That's very nice, Luke," Mommy said, but Luke only shook his head slightly. He didn't watch much television. He was a reader.