Casteel 01 Heaven Read online

  We read books by Victor Hugo, by Alexandre Dumas, and thrilled to know adventures like that were possible, even if they were horrible. We read classics, and we read junk; we read everything, anything that would take us out of that godforsaken cabin in the hills. Maybe if we'd had movies, our own TV set, and other forms of entertainment, we wouldn't have grown so fond of those books Miss Deale allowed us to take home. Or maybe it was only Miss Deale, being clever when she "allowed" only us to take home precious, expensive books that she said others wouldn't respect as much as we did.

  And that was true enough. We read our books only after we washed our hands.

  .

  I suspected that Miss Marianne Deale liked our pa more than a little. God knows she should have had better taste. According to Granny, his "angel" had taught Pa to speak proper English, and with his natural good looks, many an aristocratic woman fell for the charms of Luke Casteel, when he cared enough to be charming.

  Every Sunday Pa went with us to church, sat in the midst of his large family, next to Sarah. Petite and dainty Miss Deale sat primly across the aisle and stared at Pa. I could guess she was marveling at Pa's dark good looks, but surely she should consider his lack of knowledge. From all I'd heard from Granny, Pa had quit school before he was finished with the fifth grade.

  Sundays rolled around so fast when you didn't have the kind of good clothes you needed, and I was always thinking I'd have a pretty new dress before another showed up; but new garments of any kind were difficult to come by, when Sarah had so much to do. So there we were again, in the very last pew, all in our best rags that others would throw out for trash. We'd stand, and we'd sing along with the best and richest in Winnerrow, along with all the other hillbillies dressed no better or worse than we were, who reveled in coming to church.

  In God you had to trust, and in God you had to believe or feel a fool.

  On this particular Sunday after church services were over, I tried to keep Our Jane neat while she licked the ice cream just outside the pharmacy, not so far from where Pa had parked his truck. Miss Deale had bought cones for all five of the Casteel children. She stood about ten yards away, staring at where Ma and Pa were having a tiff about something, which meant any moment Pa might whack her, or Sarah would belt him one. I swallowed nervously, wishing Miss Deale would move on, or look elsewhere, but she stood watching, listening, almost transfixed.

  It made me wonder what she was thinking, though I never found out.

  Not a week passed without her writing at least one note to Pa concerning Tom or me. He was seldom home, and when he was, he couldn't read her neat, small handwriting; even if he could, he wouldn't have responded. Last week she had written:

  .

  Dear Mr. Casteel,

  Surely you must be very proud of Tom and Heaven, my two best students. I would like very much, at a time convenient for both of us, to meet you to discuss the possibilities of seeing that they both win scholarships.

  Yours sincerely, Marianne Deale

  . The very next day she'd asked me, "Didn't you give it to him, Heaven? Surely he wouldn't be so rude as not to respond. He's such a handsome man. You must adore him."

  "Sure do adore him," I said cynically. "Sure could chisel him into a fine museum piece. Put him in a cave with a club in his hand, and a red-haired woman at his feet. Yep, that's where Pa belongs, in the Smithsonian."

  Miss Deale narrowed her sky-blue eyes, stared at me with the oddest expression. "Why, I'm shocked, really shocked. Don't you love your father, Heaven?"

  "I just adore him, Miss Deale, I really do. Specially when he's visiting Shirley's Place." "Heaven! You shouldn't say things like that.

  What can you possibly know about a house of ill-rep-

  " She broke off and looked embarrassed. Her eyes

  lowered before she asked, "Does he really go there?" "Every chance he gets, according to Ma." The next Sunday Miss Deale didn't look at Pa

  with admiration; in-fact, she didn't cast her eyes his

  way one time.

  But even if Pa had fallen from Miss Deale's

  grace, she still was waiting for all five of us in the pharmacy while Ma and Pa chatted with their hill friends. Our Jane ran to our teacher with wide-open arms, hurling herself at Miss Deale's pretty blue skirt. "Here I am!" she cried out in delight. "Ready for ice

  cream!"

  "That's not nice, Our Jane," I immediately corrected. "You should wait and allow Miss Deale to

  offer you ice cream."

  Our Jane pouted, and so did Fanny, both with

  wide, pleading eyes fixed doglike on our teacher. "It's

  all right, Heaven, really," Miss Deale said, smiling.

  "Why do you think I come here? I like ice-cream

  cones, too, and hate to eat one all alone. . . so, come,

  tell me which flavors you want this week."

  It was easy to see Miss Deale pitied us, and

  wanted to give us treats, at least on Sundays. In a way

  it wasn't fair, to her or to us, for we were so damned

  needing of treats, but we also needed to have pride in

  ourselves. Time after time pride went down in defeat

  when it came to choosing between chocolate, vanilla,

  or strawberry. Lord knows how long it would have

  taken us if there had been more flavors.

  Easily Tom could say he wanted vanilla; easily

  I could say chocolate; but Fanny wanted strawberry,

  chocolate, and vanilla, and Keith wanted what Our Jane was having, and Our Jane couldn't make up her mind. She looked at the man behind the soda fountain, stared wistfully at the huge jars of penny candy, eyed a boy and a girl sitting down to enjoy an ice-cream soda, and hesitated. "Look at her," whispered Fanny; "kin't make up her mind cause she wants it all. Miss Deale, don't give it all t'her--unless ya give it all to

  us, too."

  "Why, of course I'll give Our Jane anything she

  wants, all three flavors if she can manage a triple

  cone, and a chocolate candy bar for later, and a bag of

  candy for all of you to take home. Is there anything

  else you'd like?"

  Fanny opened her mouth wide, as if to blab out

  all we wanted and needed. I quickly intervened. "You

  do too much already, Miss Deale. Give Our Jane her

  small vanilla cone, which will drip all over her before

  she eats it anyway, and a chocolate bar that she and

  Keith can share. That's more than enough. We have

  plenty of what we need at home."

  What an ugly face Fanny made behind Miss

  Deale's back. She groaned, moaned, and made a

  terrible fuss before Tom hushed her up with his hand

  over her mouth.

  "Perhaps one day you'll all have lunch with me," Miss Deale said casually after a short silence as all of us watched Our Jane and Keith lick their cones with so much rapture it could make you cry. No wonder they loved Sundays so much; Sundays brought them the only treats they'd known so far in

  life.

  We'd no sooner finished our cones than Ma and

  Pa showed up in the doorway of the drugstore.

  "C'mon," called Pa, "leaving for home now--unless

  you want to walk."

  Then he spied Miss Deale, who was hurriedly

  buying penny candy that Our Jane and Fanny were

  selecting with the greatest possible care, pointing to

  this piece, that piece. He strode toward us, wearing a

  cream-colored suit that Granny said my mother had

  bought for him on their two-week honeymoon in

  Atlanta. If I hadn't known differently, I would have

  thought Pa a handsome gentleman with culture, the

  way he looked in that suit.

  "You must be the teacher my kids talk about all

  the time," he said to her, putting out his hand. She
r />   pulled away, as if all my information about his

  visiting Shirley's Place had killed her admiration for

  him.

  "Your eldest son and daughter are my best students," she said coolly, "as you should know since I've

  written you many times about them." She didn't mention Fanny or Keith or Our Jane, since they weren't in

  her class. "I hope you are proud of both Heaven and

  Tom."

  Pa looked totally astounded as he glanced at

  Tom, then flicked his eyes my way. For two solid

  years Miss Deale had been writing him notes to tell

  him how bright she thought we were. The Winnerrow

  school was so delighted with what Miss Deale was

  doing for deprived hill kids (sometimes considered

  half-wits) they were allowing her to "advance" along

  with us, from grade to grade.

  "Why, that's a very nice thing to hear on a

  beautiful Sunday afternoon," said Pa, trying to meet

  her eyes and hold them. She refused to look at him, as

  if afraid once she did, she couldn't look away. "I

  always wanted to go on to acquire a higher education

  myself, but never had the chance," extolled Pa. "Pa," said I, speaking up loud and sharp, "we've

  decided to walk home . . . so you and Ma can leave

  and forget about us."

  "Don't wanna walk home!" cried Our Jane.

  "Wanna ride!"

  Near the doorway of the store Sarah stood watching with her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Pa bowed slightly to Miss Deale and said, "It's been a pleasure to meet you, Miss Deale." He leaned to sweep Our Jane up in one arm, lifted Keith with the other, and out the door he strode, seeming to everyone in the store the only cultivated, charming Casteel the world had ever seen. Not one pair of lips was left together, all gaping as if at a miracle not to be

  believed.

  And again, despite all I'd said to warn her,

  something admiring lit up the gullible sky-blue eyes

  of my teacher.

  It was a rare kind of perfect day, with birds

  flying overhead, and autumn leaves softly falling. I

  was like Keith, caught up in nature. I only half heard

  what Tom was saying until I saw Fanny's dark eyes

  widen with surprise. "NO! Yer wrong. Weren't

  Heaven that good-looking new boy was staring at! It

  was me!"

  "What boy?" I asked.

  "The son of the new pharmacist who's come to

  run the drugstore," explained Tom. "Didn't ya notice

  the name Stonewall? He was in the store when Miss

  Deale bought us the cones, an by gosh, he sure

  seemed taken by ya, Heavenly, he sure did." "Liar!" yelled Fanny. "Nobody ever stares at

  Heaven when I'm there, they don't!"

  Tom and I ignored Fanny and her screaming

  voice. "Heard tell he's gonna be comin t'our school

  tornmorra," Tom continued. "Made me feel funny

  t'way he looked at ya," he went on in an embarrassed

  way. "Sure will hate t'day when ya marry up an we're

  not close anymore."

  "We'll always be close," I said quickly. "No

  boy is ever going to convince me I need him more

  than I need an education."

  Yet, in bed that night, curled up on the floor

  near Ole Smokey, I stared through the dimness to

  where I could imagine seeing a brand-new pretty blue

  dress, never worn by anyone else, hanging on a wall

  nail. Foolishly, as only the young can believe, I

  thought that if I wore beauty it would somehow

  change the world about me. I woke up knowing I

  wanted a new dress more than anything--and

  wondering, too, if that new boy would like me even if

  I never had anything new to wear.

  three Logan Stonewall

  . TOM, FANNY, OUR JANE, KEITH, AND I HAD HARDLY HIT the schoolyard on Monday morning when Tom was pointing out the new boy, the very one he'd spotted staring at me in church. Wien I turned to look toward the ball field where the boys were already playing, my breath caught. He stood out from all the others, this new boy in better clothes than the valley boys wore. The morning sun behind him put a sort of fiery halo above his dark hair, so I couldn't really see his face that was in shadow, yet I knew from the way he stood, tall and straight, not slouched like some mountain boys who were ashamed of their height, that I liked him right from the beginning. It was silly, of course, to like a complete stranger just because he had a certain kind of confidence that wasn't arrogance, only visible strength and poise. I glanced at Tom, and knew why I immediately liked a boy I'd never seen before. Logan and Tom both had the same kind of natural grace and ease with themselves that came from snowing who and what they were. I looked again at Tom. How could he stride so proudly beside me when Ito was a Casteel?

  I longingly wished I had his poise, his confidence, his ability to accept, though I might have if I'd had my father's love--as he had.

  "He's staring at you again," whispered Tom, giving me a sharp nudge, causing Fanny to shrill in her too-loud voice, "He is NOT starin at Heaven! He's starin at ME!"

  Fanny embarrassed me again. But if that new boy heard, he didn't show any signs. He stood out like a Christmas tree in his sharply creased gray flannel slacks and his bright green sweater worn over a white shirt and a gray-and-green-striped tie. He had on regular Sunday hard shoes, polished to a shine. All the valley boys wore jeans and knit tops, and sneakers. No one, ever, came to school dressed up as Logan Stonewall was.

  Did he see us staring? He must have, for suddenly, alarmingly, he came our way! What would I say to someone so dressed up? I tried to shrink into my shoes. Each step that brought him closer put panic in my heart. I wasn't ready yet to meet anyone wearing gray flannel slacks (something I wouldn't have known if Miss Deale hadn't once worn a gray suit to school of the same fabric; she was always trying to educate me on fabrics, clothes, and such). I tried to scurry away with Keith and Our Jane before he saw the shabbiness of my worn, colorless dress with the hem half out and my scuffed, almost soleless shoes, but Our Jane resisted.

  "Don't feel good," she wailed. "Wanna go home, Hey-lee."

  "You can't go home again," I whispered. "You'll never finish first grade if you stay out sick all the time. Maybe I can bring you and Keith a sandwich this noon--and some milk."

  "Tuna fish!" Keith sang out happily, and with thoughts of half a tuna fish sandwich, Our Jane let go of my hand and with slow small steps entered the classroom where all the first graders seemed to have fun--all but Our Jane.

  I hurried after my two charges, but not so fast that Logan Stonewall didn't catch up in the hall just outside the first grade. I turned to see him shaking hands with Tom. Logan was good-looking in the kind of way I'd seen in books and magazines, like someone with years and years of cultured background that had given him what none of us in the hills had--quality. His nose was slender and straight, his lower lip much fuller and more shapely than his upper one, and even from six feet away I could see his dark blue eyes smiling warmly at me. His jaw was squarish and strong, and a dimple in his left cheek played in and out as he smiled my way. His demeanor of assurance made me feel awkward, afraid I'd do and say everything wrong, and then he'd turn for sure to Fanny, and if she said and did everything wrong, it wouldn't matter. Boys always fell for Fanny.

  "Hi there, stranga," greeted Fanny, skipping forward and smiling up into his face. Fanny had never bothered to accompany Our Jane or Keith to their respective classrooms before. "Yer t'best-lookin boy I eva did see."

  "That's Fanny, my sister," explained Tom.

  "Hi, Fanny. ." But Logan Stonewall didn't do more than glance at Fanny. He waited for Tom to introduce me.

  "And this is my sister, Heaven
Leigh." There was so much pride in Tom's voice, as if he didn't see my shapeless ugly dress, or think I had any reason to be ashamed of my shoes. "And that small girl who's peaking out of the first-grade door is my youngest sister, who we call Our Jane, and across the hall, that amber-haired boy grinning at us is my brother, Keith. Go sit down, Keith; you too, Our Jane."

  How could Tom act so natural around a boy as citified and well dressed as Logan Stonewall? I was all aflutter with excitement as those smiling sapphire eyes looked at me as I'd never been looked at before. "What a pretty name," said Logan, his eyes meeting mine. "It suits you very well. I don't think I've ever seen more heavenly blue eyes."

  "I've got black eyes," shouted Fanny, stepping in front of me to block his view. "Anybody kin have blue eyes . . . like Heaven's. I like yer color blue betta."

  "Cornflower-blue eyes, Miss Deale calls the color of Heavenly's eyes," informed Tom with evident pride, "and there isn't another girl fer ten miles around with eyes that same shade of blue that I call heavenly blue."

  "I believe you. . ." murmured Logan Stonewall, still staring at me.

  I was only thirteen; he couldn't have been more than fifteen, or at the most sixteen, yet our eyes seemed to cling and strike a gong that would resound throughout the rest of our lives.

  It was only the school bell ringing.

  I was saved from having to say anything by the bustling scurry of kids rushing to their homerooms and seating themselves before the teacher came in. Tom was laughing when he sat behind his desk. "Heavenly, I never saw you turn so many shades of red. Logan Stonewall is just another boy. Better dressed than most, and better looking, but only another boy."

  He wasn't feeling what I was feeling, yet he narrowed his eyes and stared at me in an odd way, until he turned and bowed his head, and I bowed mine.

  Miss Deale came in, and before I could figure out what I'd say to Logan when next I saw him, it was lunchtime. I had to keep my promise about the sandwich and milk. I sat at my desk as all the others left for lunch. Miss Deale looked up. "Why, Heaven, do you want to speak with me about something?"

  I wanted to plead for a sandwich to give to Keith and Our Jane, but somehow I just couldn't. Standing, I smiled and hurried out, staring at the floor of the corridor, just praying to find a quarter . . and that's when Logan's gray shoes came into view. "I waited for you to come out with Tom." He looked earnest even as his eyes still smiled. "Will you have lunch with me?"