Fallen Hearts Read online

  "That would have been no way to treat newlyweds," Logan quipped.

  "You're right," I said, but I paused and tightened my fingers around Logan's hand, knowing all that he would never know. Perhaps it was because I had been away from Tony so long, or perhaps it was the heart's way of reminding the mind that our true selves were revealed more in our eyes than in our words; whatever the reason, I felt the magnetism of Tony's eyes, drawing me back, as I had feared they would.

  Strands of gray hair had increased around Tony's temples, but that only added to his dignified demeanor. As we drew closer, his sharp, penetrating gaze transformed into a look of shock.

  "Leigh?" he almost whispered. Then

  immediately he regained his composure. "Heaven!" He stepped forward to greet us. "Heaven, welcome home. You changed your hair to the same color as your mother's. Blond . ." His voice drifted off, as if kidnapped by the past.

  "Oh, yes, I forgot, Tony," I said quickly. "I told her she looks better with her natural brunette," Logan quickly interjected as he stretched out a hand toward the surprised Tony.

  "Tony, this is my husband, Logan." I introduced them as they shook hands. I could see Tony already sizing up Logan, taking his measure, scrutinizing his face for traces of his weaknesses and vulnerabilities to see where and how Tony might manipulate him to his will.

  "Welcome, Logan," Tony said at last. Then he turned his eyes on me, and I could feel his stare almost drinking me in. "I am so happy to see you back here again, Heaven. I've missed you terribly . . ." He paused and his voice grew misty. "It's uncanny how much you look like her now. I wonder . . ." Then he seemed to grasp hold of himself and quickly turned back to Logan. "And I'm happy to have you here as well, son."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "Oh, please, call me Tony." His blue eyes lightened. "I have enough people calling me sir around here. Did you have a good flight?"

  "Wonderful. But, of course, going anywhere, being anywhere with Heaven makes it wonderful," Logan said. He put his arm around my shoulders and hugged me for emphasis. Tony nodded with a look of amusement.

  "That's good. Behaving as a pair of newlyweds should. I'm glad you've begun your honeymoon at Farthy. The car's just outside. Don't worry about your baggage. I have a man looking after it. Let's get to Farthy, where you can relax and we can get to know one another quickly," he told Logan.

  He turned to me again, his blue eyes now calm and unreadable. He had gotten hold of himself in his usual inimitable manner and was once again the man in complete control.

  "How is Jillian?" I asked softly.

  "You'll see for yourself," he said. "Let's not let anything put a damper on the joy of your arrival. I have a wonderful reception planned and the weather promises to be perfect," he said as we continued on through the airport. "My servants have been working like little beavers to sharpen up the grounds. Farthy never looked as proud or as majestic, but she rarely had as good a reason to look so."

  "Can't wait to see all of it," Logan said. Tony threw a self-satisfied smile back at me as we emerged from the airport. His long black limousine was at the curbside. Miles stood beside it, holding the car door open for us.

  "Miles." I rushed to hug him.

  "Good to see you again, Miss Heaven. Everyone's really happy about your visit."

  "Thank you, Miles. This is my husband, Logan Stonewall."

  "Pleased to meet you, sir."

  "Thank you," Logan said and we all got into the rear of the black limousine. "This is the way to travel," Logan said, stretching out his legs and leaning back against the rich leather seat. Then he leaned forward quickly. "Is this a bar?"

  "Yes. Would you like a drink?" Tony offered.

  "I think I would," Logan replied, which surprised me. He didn't drink alcoholic beverages very often. Tony pulled out the liquor cabinet and Logan asked for a highball.

  "Heaven?"

  "No, thank you, Tony. Right now it would put me to sleep," I said. Tony made Logan his drink as we raced down the crowded highway.

  Tony looked at me. His smile was small and tight . . . amused. I felt my heartbeat quicken. The scenery outside flashed by quickly, but everything-- sounds, shapes, colors--was vibrant, electric.

  "Is Curtis still the butler and Rye Whiskey still the cook?" I asked Tony.

  "Of course. Farthy wouldn't be Farthy without them."

  "Rye Whiskey?" Logan laughed.

  "His real name is Rye Williams, but everyone calls him Rye Whisky."

  "Not everyone," Tony said. "I still maintain some semblance of dignity when it comes to my servants."

  I turned to look out the window. I wanted to come upon Farthinggale Manor just the way I had that first time. I wanted to feel the same excitement, the same sense of newness. I remembered being impressed with a home that had a name, and now I thought I rightly should have been, for Farthy was like a living thing to me; it had its own personality, it housed its memories and its past just like some dowager queen, sitting back, still reigning supreme. Despite my reluctance to admit it, I was coming home, returning to a part of myself I had hoped I had overcome by marrying Logan.

  We were heading north, away from the city. Soon the roadside was bordered by large, gracious shade trees and sprawling green lawns. It was a bright summer day and the foliage was in full glory. It was a day in which to hope, a day in which to begin a new life.

  "You know," Logan said as we drove on, "I never realized it before, but New England looks a lot like the Willies, only without the mountains and the shacks. These homes are far from shacks, huh, Heaven?"

  "Yes," I said. "But the Willies wouldn't be the Willies without them," I added softly.

  "We're going to live in Winnerow," Logan explained quickly. "We're staying at the cabin for the time being, but we plan to build something substantial relatively soon."

  "Is that right?" Tony asked, turning toward Logan and narrowing his steady gaze. I could practically hear his thoughts. He was reconsidering his original opinion of Logan, sensing something unexpected. "Well, you're about to see something very substantial here," he added. "Farthy was built by my great-great-great- grandfather, and every first son who takes it over improves it."

  "Really?" Logan said, his eyes widening. He turned to look at me, the excitement so vivid in his face that for a moment he reminded me of a little boy about to be presented with a fabulous new toy.

  "It's just coming up," Tony announced. Logan leaned forward to watch for the break in the trees. Miles made the turn onto the long, narrow private drive marked by high, wrought-iron gates that arched overhead and spelled out with ornate embellishments

  FARTHINGGALE MANOR.

  "I rode past this gate once," Logan said wistfully, "trying to get up enough nerve to go in to see Heaven."

  "Oh? Looks like your patience and persistence paid off," Tony said and winked at me. I pressed my face to the window and watched the balsam, fir, and pine trees whiz by as we approached the circular drive. The great gray stone house loomed before us. The red roof rose high into the sky, a magnificent silhouette against the cobalt blue. It amazed me how it could still take my breath away. When I looked at Logan, I saw he was impressed.

  "It does look like a castle," he said.

  "And the princess is coming home," Tony added, putting his hand over mine and smiling

  Miles pulled the limo up to the wide steps in front of the hand-carved, arched entrance door.

  "And so the tour begins," Tony announced. I could feel Logan's enthusiasm and excitement as he gulped down the remainder of his drink and hurried to get out of the car. I emerged far more slowly, suddenly feeling a little terrified. I looked quickly at the great hedges that formed the English maze. At the other end of those passages lay Troy's little cottage. Despite the bright sunshine and the clear blue sky, it looked to me as if a mist lingered about those hedges, securing their mystery.

  Logan didn't know where the maze led, but he knew how much I had once cared for Troy. He even knew about our short an
d tragic engagement. He had learned all when he had taken care of me when I went into a fever delirium and he nursed me back to health at the cabin. It was Troy I called for, Troy I even thought I saw when I opened my fevered eyes and gazed upon Logan's concerned face. I remembered how hurt he was.

  "Why can't you trust me?" he had asked when he thought me asleep, his voice tender, his hands gentle as he smoothed back the damp fringe of hair from my forehead. "I saw you with that Cal Dennison and I wanted to shove him through the wall. I saw you once with that Troy you keep calling for, and I hated him. I've been a fool, Heaven, a damned fool, and now I've lost you."

  But he hadn't lost me after all, and now I felt guilty even gazing at the maze and thinking of Troy and the love that was lost when he took his life. I couldn't help the way those memories tore at my heart and brought tears to my eyes. I hid my face from Logan, knowing how unfair it was for me to think about another may I had loved, even if I thought about him only for a few seconds.

  "Incredible," Logan said, his hands on his hips. His head bobbed as he surveyed the grounds before him.

  "We'll go inside; you'll freshen up, and then I'll show you about ... or would you rather do it, Heaven?" Tony asked me quickly.

  "What? No, no, that's all right. I suppose I should go to see Jillian," I said, looking at the dark, high, and wide windows behind which my maternal grandmother had imprisoned herself.

  "Of course," Tony said and led us to the front doors that Curtis opened perfectly on cue. He stood back smiling and I went forward quickly to greet him.

  "Welcome home, miss," he said and I blushed. When I looked at Tony, I saw an expression of satisfaction. I half suspected he had told Curtis to say that. I introduced Logan, who gave him a quick, perfunctory greeting and moved farther into the house.

  Once inside, Logan turned in slow circles, looking more like one of the hill people being brought down from the mountains for the first time. It made me remember, nostalgically, my own first aweinspiring sight of Farthy. How long ago it seemed. How quickly I'd grown used to its riches.

  I peered into the enormous living room and stared at the grand piano that Troy used to play whenever he came to the great house. For a moment I thought I could once again hear the lilt of Chopin, the kind of romantic melody that could charm and thrill me. I imagined Troy seated there, his long, slender fingers rippling over the keyboard. I trembled in the archway.

  "Heaven?"

  "What?" I turned slowly to look at bOth Logan and Tony.

  "Talk about being in a daze," Logan said.

  "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

  "I was telling Logan that I had your old rooms prepared; I thought you'd be most comfortable there," Tony said.

  "Oh, of course. Thank you, Tony. We'll go right up."

  "Your bags have arrived and are being taken up now," he added. We started for the marble stairway.

  "I've never seen so many murals in one room," Logan said, looking into the music room. "It's like a museum." Tony laughed. "My wife used to be an illustrator for children's books. That was before she went mad . . ." Tony fumbled around the word, obviously wishing to take it back. He cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I let her get a bit carried away in there."

  Logan strained to look over the domed ceiling with its painted sky, its flying birds, a man riding a magic carpet, and a mystical castle half-hidden by clouds.

  "Kids would love it in here," Logan said.

  "I agree," Tony said quickly. "I hope someday there will be some to enjoy it." Once again he narrowed his gaze at me. "Why don't you two lovebirds go upstairs and freshen up now? I'm sure you'd like to be alone before dinner "

  But Logan continued his study of the ceiling, as if he hadn't heard Tony.

  "Logan," I said, "I would like to take a shower. I started up the stairs. "Logan?"

  "What? Oh, yeah, sure."

  Logan hurried up after me and we went to my old rooms. "Jeez, what a suite," he said when we passed through the wide double doors. The servants had brought up our bags and one of the maids was already hanging up our clothing in the bedroom closets.

  Bright afternoon sunlight poured through the pale ivory sheets to make the sitting room look even warmer than usual. The green, violets, and blues in the delicate ivory silk wall covering were more vibrant than ever. It was as if the room had come to life, using all its charm and beauty to woo me back. Logan had seen only a small part of it, but he was already charmed, drunk, intoxicated by Farthy's majestic size and beauty. He dropped himself into one of the two small sofas and stretched out his arms.

  "You did live like a princess," he said. "I can't believe you gave all this up to live in a cabin in the Willies."

  "Well, I did," I said. "And you should be very happy that I did. Otherwise, we might not have ever found each other again." Then I softened my voice. "I am so happy to be your bride, Mr. Stonewall."

  Impetuously I leaned over and kissed him.

  "Heaven, darling," he said, "I don't know what I would have done without you. . . . If you hadn't . ." He held me by the shoulders. "I would have lost you forever." We started to kiss again when I realized the maid was standing in the bedroom doorway.

  "Will there be anything else, Mrs. Stonewall?" she asked. She was new, a woman probably in her early forties, a little too stiff and proper for my taste, but probably an excellent servant, I thought.

  "No, I think not. Your name is?"

  "Donna."

  "Thank you, Donna. How long have you been at Farthy?"

  "Just a week, ma'am."

  "Hired just for us," Logan said. I looked at him, wondering if that weren't true.

  "That will be all, Donna. Thank you." I watched her leave while Logan went into the bedroom and whistled.

  "Talk about bedrooms for a princess," he said again. He was standing by the king-size four-poster bed with an arching canopy of heavy lace.

  "And a bed meant for royalty," I teased, taking his hand and drawing him beside me.

  He bounced on the mattress. "Great." He got up instantly and went to the large dressing and bathroom area and then wandered in and out of the walk-in closets while I began to get undressed for my shower. "I don't think there's a better honeymoon suite in any hotel in the country," he said.

  "Well, I'm not sure, Mr. Stonewall. We'll have to test that out, won't we?" I felt flushed all over. Here was my own husband. I was eager for our marriage to be consummated. Although I was not coming to him a virgin, I was a virgin with him and I longed to know him as my first lover--had longed for that for over ten years. And now here we were, and he seemed nervous, uncertain of how to turn his boyish love for me into the mature passion of a man for a woman. I waited for him to take me in his arms, to prove with his body the love I saw shining through his eyes.

  "I sure hope the one in Virginia Beach will be just as fancy!" Logan said. He turned and looked at me, now standing clad only in bra and panties in front of

  "Are you going to shower and change?" he asked.

  "I thought I'd lie down and rest a bit. Don't you feel a bit tired, sweetheart?" I made my eyes go soft and dreamy, willing him to desire me.

  "No, I'm too excited to rest. I think I'll just go down and talk to Tony," he said.

  "If that's what you want to do," I said, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice.

  He kissed me quickly and left. This wasn't the way I had planned our afternoon. I was longing for him to take me in his arms and to drive away all the ghosts of my love for Troy that haunted this house. I needed to be with him here, only him, my true pure shining springtime love. I needed Logan to prove to me that passion could be found, forever in the arms of my husband. Why did my husband seem more interested in exploring than experiencing the boundless love we felt for each other? I sat down before the vanity and looked at myself in the mirror. Suddenly I had to laugh.

  "I can't believe you, Heaven Leigh Stonewall. You're actually jealous of a house. And that's silly, isn't it?" My image in the mirror didn't re
spond.

  After I showered and dressed, I went down the corridor to Jillian's suite of rooms. It had been well over two years since I had left her that day, framed before her arching bay windows, the sunlight pouring through her hair. I had come to despise her and had actually intended never to see her again.

  Martha Goodman greeted me in the sitting room. She had been seated in the high-back French Provincial chair just to the right of the door to Jillian's bedroom, knitting. The moment she saw me enter, she smiled and rose to greet me.

  "Why, Heaven. It's so good to see you again," she said, extending her hand. "Congratulations on your marriage. Mr. Tatterton told me of your impending arrival."

  "Thank you, Martha. How is . . . my

  grandmother?" I inquired. "Does she realize I have returned? Does she know I was married?" I asked with some interest.

  "Oh, I'm afraid not. Mr. Tatterton did not prepare you for this visit?" she asked. I shook my head. "She's different, Heaven, quite different."

  "How so?" I asked.

  "It's best you see for yourself," she said, almost in a whisper. "Mrs. Tatterton is at her vanity table, preparing for guests," she added, tilting her round face to the right and nodding sadly.

  "Guests?"

  "People she says she has invited to watch an old movie in her private little theater."

  "I see." I looked toward the bedroom door. "I'd better get this over with," I said and knocked gently on it. After a moment I heard Jillian's voice. She sounded softer, younger, happier.

  "Yes?"

  I looked at Martha Goodman, who closed her eyes gently and nodded before returning to her chair, and then I entered.

  Jillian sat at her marble-top vanity table, dressed in one of her loose-fitting ivory floats trimmed with peach lace. She looked like a circus clown. Her hair was dyed a bright yellow and stuck up in thin, stiff strands. Her face looked like cracked porcelain, her cheeks blotched with bright red rouge. Eyeliner was slashed across her lids, the line drooping at the crinkly corners of her eyes. Her lipstick was thick, vibrant, caked at the corners of her mouth.

  But when I looked past her, to her mirror, I saw to my horror a blank oval of bare wall. The gips in the mirror that had once hung over the vanity table had been removed Jillian sat before the empty frame staring into a memory of herself