Casteel 03 Fallen Hearts

by V. C. Andrews

  Jillian," I repeated. "Grandmother." She didn't turn back. She was locked in a gaze now, locked in her maddening stare. I stood up and looked out the window, too, down at the maze.

  A mist had blown in from the ocean. It looked as though the clouds had fallen from the sky to swallow up the secret and dark passageways. The sky was becoming overcast quickly. We were soon to have a summer thunderstorm. The darkness seemed appropriate.

  I stood there by the window with my mentally tormented maternal grandmother and looked out at a continually evolving world below as if I, too, expected the spirits she thought were haunting her to come forth. It wasn 't until Martha came to the door to see what had transpired that I realized how long I had been standing there, staring. I had been holding Jillian's hand the whole time. When I released her, she put her hand on her lap, and I went to Martha.

  "You're right," I said in a low voice. "She is quite different." Martha nodded softly and looked at her, the sadness making her eyes heavy.

  "I think she might become catatonic eventually, Mrs. Stonewall."

  "I agree, Martha. have to get Mr. Tatterton to send for her doctor."

  "Oh, I'm glad you agree, Mrs. Stonewall," Martha said. "I mentioned the changes to Mr. Tatterton just a few hours ago and he said he would stop by, but he hasn't yet."

  "He will. I'll see to it," I assured her.

  "Thank you," Martha said. We both turned and looked at Jillian once more. She hadn't moved an eyelash.

  "Guilt is one of the most difficult weights for the mind to endure," I said, almost in a whisper, more for myself than for Martha, but she overheard and quickly agreed.

  I left the suite and rushed to ours. I didn't want any of the servants to see the tears of terror that had come into my own eyes. I knew that the things that Jillian had said, the things she felt people blamed her for and she had obviously come to blame herself for, had always been somewhere at the bottom of her thoughts, seemingly asleep, but merely waiting for the opportunity to rise and wield their power of destruction on the rest of her mind.

  The same thing was true for me. Up until now I had been relatively successful in keeping those thoughts buried, but after seeing and hearing Jillian, I couldn't help but wonder when they would rise to haunt me, when I, like Jillian, would see a ghost as well .

  Troy's ghost. I should have done more to keep him from despair. Surely I shouldn't have left him and gone traveling about while he lingered here at Farthy, living in that cottage that had been our love nest, the site of so many happy hours for us.

  How many nights had he lain awake thinking of me in that cottage, believing I had put him aside, believing I had accepted our fate? I knew how sensitive and prone to despair he could be. How easy it was for him to suffer, and yet I left him to endure the greatest pain of all . . a broken heart. I left him without hope, thinking that all the dark thoughts he had had his whole life were meant to be.

  Looking into Jillian's eyes, seeing the pain that made those orbs its new home, I felt the agony she felt. I fled from those reminders as much as I fled from her madness. Would guilt twist and torment me as it had her, until I, too, became mad and lived alone with my troubled thoughts?

  Oh, Troy, Troy, surely you must have known you were the last person in the world I would want to harm.

  But I had to drive the black thoughts of Troy from my mind. Now I was Logan's wife, and I wanted to make sure I never caused him to suffer the way Troy had.

  I showered and dressed and went back downstairs to find Tony to tell him to go right up to talk to Martha Goodman.

  Tony and Logan were not in the office. Curtis found me searching for them and told me they had left a message that they had gone into Boston.

  "Something about plans for the factory in Winnerow," Curtis said, troubled that he hadn't remembered the message word for word.

  "Don't worry about it, Curtis. Thank you." I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at Logan's monomaniacal dedication to Tatterton Toys. I knew he had to be tired from our trip, yet he wouldn't let that prevent him from showing his determination and drive to Tony. Tony should have known better, too, I thought. Why was he romancing Logan with the business so intently? He had what he said he wanted--he had us living here, sharing in his wealth, and he had Logan working for him. He should be paying more attention to Jillian and her needs.

  "Well, they did say not to worry. They would be back in plenty of time for dinner."

  Oh, how I wished I could be gay and happy at this moment, instead of troubled and melancholy. I decided it would be good for me to take a walk, to air out my stuffy, gloomy thoughts.

  I was wearing a light blue, summer-weight blouse and skirt and almost turned back to get a cotton sweater, for the air had become cool and the salty sea breeze brisk. But I didn't. I walked on, embracing myself and distracted so by my worries that I didn't realize how fast and how far I had gone from the front entrance. I stopped at the entrance to the maze and looked back.

  There, framed in the window, was Jillian. She looked like a mannequin; so still she was, so frozen in place. It was difficult to see the details of her face, of course, but I thought she wore an expression of fear. Suddenly her fear filled me and I was drawn into the maze, like a child who wants to be told the end of a scary fairy tale. The moment I entered the maze I recalled the first time I had done so, that first day I had come to Farthy, when I didn't even realize what the maze was. I was excited by the challenge of finding my way through the puzzle. Arrogantly, I had gone forward, taking the right turns and then the left turns. As the warm sunlight was absorbed by the tall hedges, I'd realized I had lost my prospective. I no longer remembered the way back. I had panicked, quickening my pace, nearly running.

  Finally I had stopped to gather my wits and calm myself, straining to hear the pounding of the surf, hoping to use that as a reference point, but instead, I had heard the tap-tap-tap of someone hammering nearby. I had followed the sound until I heard a window close and the hammering cease. I had been walking just the way I was walking right now, with my arms folded protectively over my bosom in Granny's way. I had made turn after turn until I stepped out of the maze and came upon Troy's cottage.

  Just as I did now.

  And it was just the way it always had been, a storybook house suddenly appearing out of the fog, comfortably nestled in the lap of the pine trees. Of course now there were no sounds of a hammer being used to construct those precious little Tatterton Toys; there was no light from any warm fire. There was nothing but the cold shadows and the darkened windows that looked like the eyes of a blind man, dull, gray, sightless, not even the reflection of the surrounding little crooked fence in its glass.

  Yet the sight of it shattered my fragile heart.

  Oh, Troy, I thought. How I wish I was once again coming upon your cottage as I had that first day, and after meeting you, I was once again trying to get you to talk to me. How I wish you were there once again to look at me the way you had--to see your dark eyes look me over so slowly, taking in my face, my throat, my heaving bosom, my waist, hips, and legs as though you feasted on me visually. How intently you looked into my face. I felt your gaze on my lips. I sensed how much I affected you and that filled me with a realization of my own potent femininity Yes, Troy, you made me feel like a woman more than any man ever had before.

  I realized I was embracing myself even tighter while lost in this reverie. What is happening to me? I wondered. I shouldn't be thinking of these things, for I had my true love with me and Troy was gone and gone forever. I shouldn't be letting Jillian's crazed dreams of ghosts affect and haunt me, too.

  After a moment I got hold of myself and I brought my hands to the sides of my body and walked forward until I reached the cottage door. I was surprised to see how well the grounds around the cottage had been kept since Troy's death. The lawn was cut; the flower beds pruned. Even the panel windows looked clean.

  After a moment's hesitation, when all the voices of caution sang out their warnings, I turned t
he latch and stepped inside, my heart beating in my chest like a bird ready to take wing. The moment I stepped in, I gasped. Troy's chair was just where it always had been, facing the fireplace. For a moment I expected that he would be in it and he would turn my way as he did that first day, but, of course, there was no one there and that silence and emptiness was more devastating than I had imagined it would be. I took a deep breath and held it as I looked up at the special tools he had used to construct those special Tatterton creations, each in its niche on the wall.

  The floorboard to my left creaked as if a ghost had taken a step and I uttered a cry. Without any hesitation I turned and ran out the cottage door, sorrow and fear commingling in the tears that streamed down my cheeks. I fled back into the maze and ran mindless down the corridors, making one senseless turn after another. I tripped once, but caught myself before falling into the hedges. Finally, out of breath and exhausted, I stopped in the middle of a passageway to gather my wits.

  Like the first time I had entered this maze years ago, I was once again lost. I had run in a panic, disregarding the pathways and directions I had once known so well. Right now, still emotionally

  overwrought, I couldn't think straight. Every opening and entrance looked the same. I wasn't even sure how to go back to the cottage.

  I laughed at myself, more to calm myself than anything else. How silly and stupid you are, Heaven Leigh, I thought. After all these years and all those times you traveled the maze, to be standing here so confused. Take your time, think, gather your wits together. Imagine what it would be like for you to be wandering around in here when Tony and Logan returned, for them to have to rescue you. How could you explain such foolishness?

  I ran through the corridors again, cursing the mystery. I was sure I had gone around in circles. What was the point of all this anyway? What distorted sense of humor created such things? I caught my breath and studied the various options. The more choices I had, the more confused I became. It was getting darker and darker. How long had I been wandering through the maze? All sense of time and place was suddenly lost to me. I couldn't calm my heart's pounding. Little cries were emerging from my mouth almost on their own. I tried desperately to calm myself, but it was getting to be harder and harder to do it.

  I stared down one corridor, made a right turn and then a left. Everything looked as familiar as ever, but when I made what I thought were surely the correct turns, I found myself still deep in the maze, but perhaps far right of the exits to either Troy's cottage or the house. The shadows here looked darker, longer. Everything about this section was unfriendly to me. In my wild imagination I thought the hedges were taking revenge on me for solving their mystery years ago and moving from one world into another.

  I finally decided that my only solution was to keep turning left once and then right once. Eventually I would have to come to the end of the maze, even though it might take me ten times the time it would take had I remembered the solutions. With my head down I proceeded. After a few minutes the sound of someone clipping caught my attention. I stopped and listened. Yes, it was definitely one of the grounds people working. I walked toward the sound and after making half a dozen turns came upon an elderly man trimming one of the hedges. I didn't want to frighten him, so I waited, hopeful that he would soon notice my presence. Even so, when he turned my way, I saw that he was quite shocked. He nearly fled.

  "Wait, don't be afraid," I said. "It's only me, Mrs. Stonewall. Heaven." He was not familiar to me, so I imagined he was one of the many servants hired after I had left Farthy to go back to Winnerow to teach.

  "Oh, miss," he said. "Oh, dear." He stood up, holding his right hand over his heart. "You gave me quite a start. I'm glad you're who you are; I'm glad you're of the living."

  "I am, thankfully. But I must confess I wandered into the maze and lost my sense of direction."

  "Oh, that's easy to do. Even I have done it a few times."

  "Have you been working here long?" I asked. I thought a few moments of idle conversation might calm the moment and he wouldn't feel the need to exaggerate it when he related it to the other servants. "Only a few months, ma'am."

  "Enjoying it?"

  "Most of the time, yes, ma'am. I wasn't a moment ago," he said and then laughed. "I thought for a minute there that one of Rye Whiskey's spirits had me."

  "Oh, Rye Whiskey. Yes," I said, smiling "He can spook anyone with his tales."

  "Got me goin', ma'am. The other day I was sure I heard footsteps just on the other side of one of these hedges. I followed the sound and came out at a juncture just where whoever it was would have to come out, only . . ."

  "Only?"

  "There was no one there. I would have sworn on a stack of Bibles there was someone."

  I stared at him a moment.

  "Well, once someone puts ideas into your head the way Rye doesyour imagination plays tricks on you," I told him. He nodded.

  "That's what I think, too, ma'am. Well, then, if you're looking for the fastest way back to the house, just take this right turn here, go two left turns and then make a right. That should do it."

  "Thank you. I feel a bit silly for getting confused."

  "No reason to, ma'am. Have a good night now." He looked up. "It's almost too dark for me to go on working. I'm just going to finish this piece and be off myself."

  "Yes," I said. "Thanks again." I followed his directions and stepped out on the grounds, a dozen yards or so from the place where I had first entered. As I walked quickly back toward the house, I looked up and saw that Jillian was still at her window.

  Only now she was nodding slowly, as if my getting lost and emerging the way I had had

  confirmed something in her maddened mind, as if I had given flesh to her wild imaginings. She smiled at me and then pulled back from the window, satisfied.

  I hurried on to reenter the house and bask in the warm security that lights and noise and other people would provide. I was happy to see that Logan and Tony had not yet returned. I went to my suite quickly and rinsed my face in cold water, finally calming myself and removing the flush in my cheeks. Shortly afterward Logan arrived.

  "Where did you two go?" I asked as he undressed to shower and change for dinner

  "Oh, Tony wanted me to meet someone involved in marketing the toys abroad. Interesting man. Explained everything in great detail, and when I told him about our venture in Winnerow, he became very interested. He said Europeans have a driving curiosity about backwoods America. We're sure to prove successful. Tony became very enthusiastic about it."

  "Did he?"

  "Yes," Logan said, then paused as he studied my face. "Why do you look so unhappy?"

  "I had gone down to see him about Jillian, right before you two left. She's in a very bad state and Tony's been ignoring it. Martha Goodman is disturbed enough about it to want to leave."

  "Really? Oh, dear."

  "Yes, oh, dear," I said. "I'll be downstairs in the living room. I have to speak with Tony."

  "Okay. I'll be right along."

  Tony was upstairs showering and dressing for dinner, too, but he appeared before Logan did, looking rather dapper in his blue velvet smoking jacket. There was a radiance and a brightness in his eyes. He looked happier than ever.

  "Heaven. Would you join me in a cocktail before dinner?" he asked.

  I was standing beside the piano, my right hand on the polished wood.

  "No, Tony, not right now. I just want to talk to you before dinner "

  "Oh?"

  "Did you stop in to see Jillian and Martha Goodman?"

  "No, I --"

  "Why have you been avoiding it?" I demanded, stepping toward him. He stared at me a moment. Before he could reply, Curtis came to the doorway and he ordered a highball.

  "Very good, sir," Curtis said and then eyed me.

  "Nothing for me, Curtis," I said, "Well?" I asked as soon as Curtis left.

  "I haven't been avoiding her. I've just been very busy. Why are you so disturbed about it?"<
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  "I'm disturbed about it because she is not the same; she is quite different. Martha Goodman told me she has been asking you to come by to see for yourself. She's very upset about it and I believe she wants to leave."

  "Martha?"

  "Yes, Tony. If you weren't so oblivious to things around you, you would know that. You must go right up there and confer with her and call the doctor to come to examine Jillian."

  "What's wrong with her?"

  "She's changed." I ran my hand over the piano. "She's not living in the past; she's bringing the past into the present."

  "Pardon?"

  "She thinks she sees ghosts and she blames it on her own guilt."

  "Oh. I see." His head was turned in a way that kept me from seeing his eyes, but I sensed the reason.

  "It's something you don't mind letting her do-- bear the entire guilt for my mother and even . . . for Troy."

  "What?" He spun around, his blue eyes blazing like the blue tip of a gas fire. I felt the heat between us.

  "I know what you're doing, I've done it myself, not only to her, but to Luke. When they carry all the guilt, it relieves us of our own burden. But it's not fair, Tony, and it's not right. Martha Goodman's right. Jillian is growing worse and worse with each passing day. Soon, she'll be catatonic, a vegetable. You can't ignore your responsibility any longer."

  "This is ridiculous," he said, his lips curling. "I don't blame her for Troy's death, nor do I blame myself. I did all I could for him, under the circumstances, but you knew how unhappy and depressed he was, how he was convinced he would die because of those constant nightmares in which he saw his own death, even saw his own tombstone. He knew what he was doing when he chose Jillian's wild horse. In my mind he committed suicide," Tony said, following his words with a sigh.

  We both paused when Curtis brought him his drink He went to the couch and sat down, but I remained by the piano.

  "Now, as far as Jillian goes," he continued, "I've also done all any man in my circumstances could do. I kept her safe, warm, satisfied, even in her madness. But that didn't mean I had to sacrifice my own sanity, did it? She has a professional nurse twenty-four hours a day. I'm not neglecting her out of some ridiculous sense of guilt I'm just busy, that's all."