Heaven (Casteel Series #1) Read online

  . .

  On the top level, we followed a narrow hall with many closed doors, to reach the door at the very end, and when it was opened, it revealed a pitifully small, shabby room, with a sagging old bed, a small dresser—and there sat Grandpa in a creaky old rocker.

  He'd aged so much I hardly recognized him. It broke my heart to see the second rocker—both chairs had been taken from our pitiful cabin in the Willies, and Grandpa was talking as if Granny sat in her rocker.

  "Ya work t'hard on yer knittin," he murmured. "Gotta get ready fer Heaven girl who's comm. ."

  It was unbelievably hot up there.

  There was no beautiful scenery all around, no dogs, cats, kittens, pigs, hogs, or chickens to keep my grandpa company. Nothing here at all but a few pieces of beat-up old furniture. He was so lonely he'd turned on his imagination, and put his Annie in that empty rocker.

  As I stood in the open doorway hearing that landlady stomp away, an overwhelming pity washed over me. "Grandpa . . . it's me, Heaven Leigh."

  His faded blue eyes turned to stare my way, not with interest as much as with surprise at hearing a different voice, seeing a different face. Had he reached a certain kind of miserable plateau where nothing really mattered?

  "Grandpa," I whispered again, tears welling, my heart aching to see him like this. "It's me, Heaven girl.

  That's what you used to call me—don't you

  remember? Have I changed so much?"

  Slow recognition came. Grandpa tried to smile, to show happiness, his pale eyes lighting up, opening wider. I threw myself into his arms that slowly opened to receive me . . . and just in the nick of time. While he silently cried, I held him in my arms and wiped away his tears with my handkerchief.

  "Now, now," soothed Grandpa, finding a rusty voice to use while smoothing my rumpled hair, "don't ya cry. We ain't sufferin, not Annie, not me. Neva had it so good before, huh, Annie?"

  Oh, dear God! . . . He was looking at the empty rocker and seeing Granny! He even reached to pat where her hand would have been if she'd been sitting there. Then, almost with relief, he leaned over to spread sheets of old newspapers on the floor at his feet, and began with his sharp knife to shave a piece of tree limb free of bark. It was so good to see those hands busy.

  "Lady here pays me an Annie t'work, help wid t'cookin, an t'make these critters," Grandpa said in a low whisper. "Hate t'see em go. Neva thought I'd let even one go, but it means nice thins for Annie. She kin't hear so good nowadays, either. Gonna buy her a hearin aid. But I kin hear good, real good. Don't need no glasses yet. . . . That is ya, Heaven girl, that really ya? Yer lookin good, like yer ma who came. Annie . .

  . where did Luke's angel come from? Kin't seem t're-memba much of nothin lately . . ."

  "Granny's looking fine, Grandpa," I managed to say as I knelt by his side and put my cheek on his old gnarled hand when it was momentarily still. "Are they good to you here?"

  "It's not so bad," he said vaguely, looking lost and bewildered when he moved his eyes over the room. "An I'm mighty glad t'see ya lookin so fine an pretty; pretty as yer own true ma. An here ya are, Luke's angel's Heaven. Gladdens this heart t'see yer face lookin like yer ma come back t'life."

  He paused, looked at me uneasily before he went on. "Know ya don't love yer pa, know ya don't even want t'hear bout him, but still he's yer fatha, an there's nothin t'be done bout that now. My Luke's done gone an got himself some kind of crazy, dangerous job, so I hear tell, but don't know what it is, cept he's makin lots of money. Luke set Annie and me up here with his money, didn't leave us t'starve."

  How grateful he seemed for nothing! This

  horrible small room! And then I felt shamed, for he was better off here than alone in the cabin.

  "Grandpa, where is Pa?"

  He stared at me blankly, then lowered his eyes to his whittling. "Like t'dead risin from t'grave," he muttered. "Like God tried once an made a mistake, an's tryin again t'do it right. God help her."

  It sure did make me feel strange, his saying that. I knew he didn't realize he'd said those frightening words aloud. Still, I felt sort of doomed.

  And even worse, he kept on speaking in that strange, mumbling way, as if to his Annie. "Would ya look at her, Annie, just would ya?"

  "Grandpa, stop mumbling! Tell me where Pa is!

  Tell me where I can find Keith, Our Janet You see Pa

  . . he must have told you where they are."

  Vacant stare into nowhere. No voice to answer a question like that.

  It was no use.

  In time he said all there was to say, and I stood to go. "I'll be coming back soon, Grandpa," I said at the door. "Take care, now. You hear?"

  Then I joined Logan on the porch.

  There was someone with him. A tall young man with dark auburn hair who turned when he heard the clickity-clack of my heels. I stared . . . and then my knees went weak.

  Oh, my God!

  It was Tom!

  My brother Tom, standing and grinning at me, just the way he used to do . . . only thing was, in two years and eight months he'd grown to look almost exactly like Pa!

  Tom stepped toward me, grinning broadly and holding out his arms. "I can't believe my eyes!" I ran to him then and was caught up in his strong embrace, and we were hugging, kissing, laughing, crying, both trying to talk at once.

  Soon all three of us walked down Main Street with arms locked, me in the middle. We stopped at a park bench that just happened to face the church, and of course the parsonage was across from the church.

  Fanny could have looked out and seen us there, even if she was too cowardly to join her own family reunion.

  "Now, Tom," I gushed, "tell me everything your letters didn't."

  Tom glanced at Logan and seemed a little

  embarrassed. Immediately Logan was on his feet, making excuses that he had to hurry back home.

  "Sorry about this, Logan," Tom apologized, "but I've only got ten minutes to visit with my sister, and years of filling in to do, but I'll see you again in about a week."

  "See you tomorrow in church," Logan said to me in a significant way.

  Logan left, while I feasted my eyes on Tom.

  His sparkling green eyes locked with mine. "Good golly, if you ain't a sight for sore eyes."

  "If you aren't' is the way you should say it." "I should have known. Still the schoolteacher!"

  "You're no skinnier than you used to be, but so much taller, and so good-looking. Tom, I never guessed you'd grow to look like Pa."

  What did he hear in my voice to take the smile from his eyes and lips? "You don't like the way I look now?"

  "I like the way you look, of course I do. You're handsome—but did you have to grow up to look so much like Pa?" I almost shouted. Now I'd gone and hurt his feelings when I hadn't meant to do that. "I'm sorry, Tom," I choked, laying my hand on his huge one. "It's just that you took me by surprise."

  He had an odd look on his face. "There's many a woman who thinks Pa is the best-looking man alive."

  Frowning, I glanced away. "I don't want to talk about him, please. Now, have you heard anything about Keith and Our Jane?"

  He turned his head so I saw his profile, and again I felt stunned that he could be so much like Pa.

  "Yeah. I heard they are fine, and Our Jane is alive and well. If Pa hadn't done what he did, no doubt she'd be dead."

  "Are you making excuses for him?"

  Again he turned to me and grinned. "You sound just like you used to. Don't hold on to hate, Heavenly .

  . . let go of it before it eats you up and makes you worse than he is. Think of those who love you, like me. Don't go spoiling everything good that will come along in the future because you had a cruel father.

  People change. He's taking care of Grandpa, isn't he?

  Never thought he'd do that, did you? And Buck Henry isn't nearly as mean as he looked that first time we saw him; as you can see, I'm not starved, not sick, not worked to death. And I'll be graduating from high
school same time as you do."

  "Your hair isn't as red as fire anymore . . ."

  "Sorry about that, but I'm glad. Tell me if my eyes still shine with devilment."

  "Yes, they still do."

  "Then I haven't changed so much after all, have I?"

  He had a clean, honest face, with clear, shining eyes without secrets, while I had to duck my head and hide my eyes, so scared he'd see my terrible secret. If he knew, he wouldn't respect me as he always had.

  He'd think I was no better than Fanny, and maybe even worse.

  "Why are you hiding your eyes, Heavenly?"

  I sobbed and tried to meet his gaze again. If only I could tell him everything right now, and say it all so that he'd see I had been as trapped by my Candlewick circumstances as Fanny had been by her hill genes. I began to tremble so much that Tom reached to pull me into his arms where I could rest my head on his shoulder. "Please don't cry cause you're so happy to see me, and make me cry, too. I haven't cried since the day Buck Henry bought me from Pa. But I sure did cry a lot that night, wondering what had happened to you after he drove me away. Heavenly, you are all right, aren't you? Nothing bad happened, did it?"

  "Of course I'm all right. Don't I look all right?"

  He studied my face as I tried to smile and conceal all the guilt and shame I felt. What he saw apparently satisfied him, for he smiled as well. "Gee, Heavenly, it's great to be here with you. Now tell me everything that's happened to you since the day I went away—and say it all fast, cause I'll have to go in another few minutes."

  The urgency in his voice made me look

  around—was Buck Henry with him?

  "You first, Tom. Tell me everything you didn't in your letters!"

  "Don't have time," he said, jumping to his feet and pulling me up as I saw a familiar stocky figure coming down the street. "That's him looking for me.

  Just one fast hug, and I've got to go. He's here in town buying vet supplies for two sick cows. Next time you've got to tell me more about your life in Candlewick. Your letters say so little. Too much talk about movies and restaurants and clothes. By gosh, it seems to me all of us were blessed the day Pa sold us off."

  There were shadows in the emerald depths of his eyes, dark shadows I suddenly noticed, putting doubts in my mind as to his happiness; but before I could question, he was off, calling back: "I'm joining Mr. Henry, but be looking for me next Saturday, and bring Laurie and Thalia with me . . . and we'll all have lunch or dinner together—maybe both if we're lucky!"

  I stood staring after him, so sad to see him going already; he was the one and only person who might understand, if only I could tell him. Tears were streaking my face as I watched him join that man I just couldn't believe Tom could like. Still, he looked fine. He seemed hdp-py, big, and strong. The shadows in his eyes were only there because of the shadows he caught from me, as always he'd been my reflection.

  Next Saturday I'd see him again. I could hardly wait for the day!

  twenty

  THE LOVE OF A MAN

  .

  CAL WAS WAITING FOR ME WHEN I

  FINALLY RETURNED TO the Setterton home.

  "Heaven!" he cried when he saw me on the steps.

  "Where the devil have you been? I've been worried sick about you."

  He was the man who loved me, who'd given me so much happiness when he gave me kindness and care, who gave me shame when he gave me love; and added all together, it totaled up to feeling trapped. As I surrendered to his quick embrace and his hasty kiss, I was enveloped in a heavy fog of despair. I loved him for what he'd done to save me from the worst of Kitty's meanness, and yet I wished desperately that he'd just stayed my father, and not become my lover.

  "Why are you looking at me like that, Heaven?

  Can you love me only in Candlewick, and not in Winnerrow?"

  I didn't want to love him in the way he wanted me to! I couldn't let him overwhelm me again with his needs. I whispered hoarsely, "I saw Tom today, and Fanny, and Grandpa."

  "And you're crying? I thought you'd be happy."

  "Nothing is ever quite what you think it's going to be, is it? Tom has grown to be as tall as Pa, and he's only sixteen."

  "And how was Grandpa?"

  "So old and pitiful, and pretending Granny's still alive, sitting in the rocker next to him." I half laughed. "Only Fanny was predictable. She hasn't changed at all in personality, except she has turned into a beauty."

  "I'm sure she can't hold a candle to her sister,"

  he said in a low, intimate voice, lightly touching my breast. At that moment Maisie opened the screen door, and her eyes were huge. She'd seen! Oh, God!

  "Kitty's been callin fer ya," said Maisie in a small voice. "Ya betta run on up an see what she wants. Ma kin't do nothin right fer her."

  Sunday morning we were all up early preparing to go to church. Kitty had to wait until Monday to see the doctors. "We're all goin t'church," said Reva Setterton when she saw me in the hall. "Ya hurry an eat yer breakfast so ya kin go. I done took ken of my daughta early, so she's all right t'leave alone fer a few hours."

  Cal was in his bedroom doorway, staring at me in a disturbing way. Did he realize now that it was better that he and I never be alone again? Surely he had to know Logan was the right one for me, and he'd let me go without making further demands. I pleaded with my eyes, begging him to restore our proper relationship . . . but he frowned and turned away, seeming hurt.

  "I'll stay here with Kitty; the rest of you go on,"

  I said. "I don't like to leave her alone." Instantly Cal turned to follow Kitty's family out the door. He glanced back to give me a long, appraising look before his lips quirked in a wry small smile.

  "Be good to your mother, Heaven."

  Was that sarcasm I heard in Cal's voice?

  Here I was, stuck in this house, when Logan would be waiting for me in the church. How stupidly blind of me to presume Reva Setterton would stay home with her daughter, and how indifferent she'd been to suggest leaving her alone.

  Slowly I climbed the stairs to check on Kitty.

  Kitty lay on the wide bed, her face scrubbed so clean it shone. Not only was it red and chafed, as mine had been after that bath in scalding water, her thick red hair had been parted in the middle and was tightly braided in two long plaits that just reached the swell of her bosom. Her mother had put her in a plain white cotton nightgown such as old ladies wore, buttoned up to the throat, the very kind of nightgown Kitty despised, a plain, cheap nightgown. I'd never seen Kitty look so unattractive.

  Her mother was wreaking her own revenge, as Kitty had hers when she put me in boiling water . . .

  and yet I felt an overwhelming rage rising. I hated Reva Setterton for doing this to a helpless woman!

  How cruel when Kitty was so defenseless. Like a protective mother I gathered what I needed to undo what Reva had done. I pulled out Kitty's prettiest nightgown, and took off the plain ugly one, before I soothed her chafed skin all over with lotion; then gently I eased the lacy pink nightie over her head.

  Then I began to undo her tightly bound hair. When I had it styled as best I could, I carefully soothed her irritated face with moisturizer and began to apply her makeup.

  As I worked to repair the damage I talked on and on. "Mother, I'm just beginning to understand how it must have been for you. But don't you worry. I just put a good moisturizing lotion all over your body, and cream to help your face. I know I won't make your face up as well as you do it yourself, but I'll try.

  We're taking you to the hospital tomorrow, and the doctors are going to give your breasts a more thorough examination. It isn't necessarily true that you have to inherit tumors, Mother. I hope to God you really told me the truth, and you did go, as you said you did—did you really go?"

  She didn't answer, though it seemed she was listening, and a tear formed in the corner of her left eye. I went on talking, using blusher, eyebrow pencil, adding lipstick and mascara; and when I'd finished, she looked like he
rself again. "You know something, Kitty Dennison, you are still a beautiful woman, and it's a damned shame you're lying there and not caring anymore. All you had to do was reach out and tell Cal you love him, and need him, and stop saying no so much, and he'd have been the best husband in the world. Pa wasn't meant to be any woman's husband.

  You should have known that. He's a born rogue! The best thing that ever happened to you was when he walked out and Cal walked in. You hate my mother, when you should have pitied her—look what he did to her."

  Kitty began to cry. Silent tears slid down her face and ruined her freshly applied makeup.

  Early Monday morning an ambulance drove

  Kitty to the hospital. I rode beside her, and with me was Cal, while her mother and father stayed home.

  Maisie and Danny had gone on a hayride into the mountains.

  For five hours Cal and I sat on hard,

  uncomfortable hospital chairs and waited for the verdict on Kitty. Sometimes I held his hand, sometimes he held mine. He was wan, restless, chain-smoking. When Kitty had ruled her house, he'd never smoked; now he couldn't leave cigarettes alone.

  Finally a doctor called us into an office, and we sat side by side as he tried to tell us without emotion:

  "I don't know how it was overlooked before, except sometimes a tumor is very difficult to find when a woman has such large breasts as your wife, Mr. Dennison. We did a mammogram of her left first, since for some reason women seem to have them more frequently on that side than the other, and then her right. She does have a tumor, set deep under the nipple in the most unfortunate place, for it's difficult to discover there. It's about five centimeters in size.

  That's very large for this type of tumor. We are absolutely sure your wife has known about this tumor for some time. When we tried to do the mammogram, she suddenly came out of her lethargy and fought us.

  She screamed and yelled, and shouted out 'Let me die!"

  Stunned, both Cal and I. "She can talk now?" he asked.

  "Mr. Dennison, your wife could always talk.

  She chose not to. She knew she had a growth. She's told us she'd rather be dead than have her breast removed. When women feel this strongly about losing a breast, we don't push the issue; we su: est alternatives. She's refused chemotherapy, for it would cause the loss of her hair. She wants us to try radiation