"I must not!"
I stood up. All my rage and fury burst from me like a long-dammed mountain stream, and I yelled, really yelled at him. "All my life I have been passed from one set of arms to another, bought and sold, it seems, no better than a slave before the Civil War. My love has been treated as though it were a commodity, a product, one of your precious Tatterton Toys, something to possess and hoard and manipulate and throw away, and you want me to understand?"
"Heaven—"
"Why must I understand your feelings? When do any of you men understand mine? When do you think of me, and not of yourselves? You and Luke . . .
you were two of a kind. It's the same thing to buy or to sell a person's love . . . either one is just as terrible a thing to do.
"Yes, Luke was just as horrible and as guilty for agreeing to your contract, but he wanted his precious circus so much, he was willing to sell any love he might have possessed for me. He wasn't my real father and he knew it.
"But you," I said pointing my finger at him. "To make such an offer, to appeal to his greed, to his passions . . you're like . you're like the Devil."
"No, Heaven. Please." He started to reach out toward me, looking like a desperate man.
"Yes," I said, backing away. "You are like the Devil. You played upon his lusts, his passion for that circus, and like the Devil, you made him sell a part of his soul."
"But only because of my love for you!" he protested.
"I don't want that kind of love. That's not love, true and pure; that's parasitical love, love that feeds off others. You've lived a life of lies, Tony. And you're still living it and it's made you a very selfish man."
"That's not so," he insisted. "Everything I have now, everything I've done, is all for you."
"Is it? What was the one thing you knew that I wanted in my life? What was the one thing that made my life complete, that gave me hope and happiness?
The one thing that you kept from me?"
He stared at me in confusion.
"I don't understand. What did I deny you? What did you ever ask for that I turned down?"
"You let me live under one cloud after another, just so you could play the sun and give me rays of hope and happiness whenever it pleased you. You were afraid that if I wasn't sad, that if I didn't live under a dark and gloomy sky, you could never be something bright and alive to me.
"So you let me think that Luke didn't care for me, when in fact you had trapped him within his own prison of greed."
"But . ." He started forward, hoping to embrace me. I continued to back away from his desk.
"And you let me believe that Troy was dead," I said. The words fell like thunder, echoing in the room.
He whitened so, he looked like he had been turned into a statue of salt. I didn't want to give away the secret that Troy and I had held between us. It had been all that was left that was precious and special.
But I suddenly realized that if Tony were honest and if he really wanted me to return to Farthy, he would have told me about Troy not being dead and brought me back to help him regain a normal life.
But he didn't want me to return to Troy; he wanted me to return to him and to him only.
"You know?" he whispered.
"Yes. I found him out just before he left."
"It was his wish that you not know, not mine,"
Tony pleaded quickly. That moment Anthony Townsend Tatterton looked as cheap and as small as a petty thief to me, a petty thief who had tried to lie his way out of his guilt, and when one lie didn't work, he tried another and finally even betrayed those closest to him, all to save himself.
"But you knew that he said those things because he was despondent, because he believed we could never be anything to each other. You could have done more. If you would have told me and I could have seen him . . . by the time I did discover him, it was too late.
"And so he's gone," I said softly, "and a love that was truly unselfish has been lost."
I looked up at him, the tears now streaming down my face.
"For all I know, you drove Jillian into her madness," I said. "And you helped drive Troy into oblivion. Now," I concluded, standing straight, "you've driven me away."
"Heaven?' he screamed as I turned and rushed out of his office. I didn't look back. I ran up the stairs to my suite and began to pack.
In the morning I would take Drake and leave Farthy. This time I would leave forever.
I looked in on Drake and found that he had brought his blanket up and nearly over his head as if to shut out the world around him It was the way I felt, too, but I knew that hide as you would, you couldn't escape from the truth. Truth had its way of finding the cracks and the openings in whatever walls of make-believe you set up around yourself, even if you were rich. I felt as though everything around me here was made up of crepe paper and cellophane. It was pretty and bright and colorful, but one strong wind could blow it all away and leave you standing naked, shivering under bruised and angry clouds.
I brought his blanket down around his neck, brushed away some strands of hair from his eyes, and kissed him softly on the cheek. Tomorrow I would take him to Winnerow. As suddenly as he had been brought into this richly elegant and luxurious world, he would be taken from it. I knew it would confuse him, but I also now knew that this was no place for him to grow up. My bloodline might have started here at Farthy, but my heartline was tied to Winnerow, tied to that simpler world where I could look out of the windows of the Hasbrouck House and see the Willies.
It was better that Drake grow up in that
sunlight, surrounded by those sounds, than here in the long, empty halls of Farthinggale, surrounded by the moaning ghosts who haunted the Tattertons.
I did some packing for both of us until I grew too tired and then prepared myself for bed. Even though I was both physically and emotionally exhausted, I lay there staring into the darkness, my eyes wide open. I wondered about Logan and about the life we would make for ourselves in Winnerow now. I hoped I could make him understand why I wanted no more to do with Farthinggale Manor and little to do with Tony. Of course, I wouldn't tell him about Troy, but he would know what Tony had done to keep Luke away from me, and I hoped he would be just as upset about it as I was. Mostly, I hoped he would hold me near to him, and in time we could recapture that wonderfully exciting feeling we once shared for each other when we were high school students.
I couldn't help thinking about Troy as well. I wondered where he was and how much he would know of my life, how much he would know of what had happened and would happen. Would he be watching nearby as he had watched my wedding reception?
Or had he truly cut himself off from everything concerning me and Farthy?
Every passing day now he became more and
more of an illusion, the personification of truly ideal love, the unattainable perfect love, the love dreams are made of, the love you destroy simply by touching it, just as you destroy a beautiful, perfect soap bubble the moment the tips of your fingers graze its thin, fragile surface. Like the soap bubble, such love was something to watch or to hope for, but something never to hold.
I knew that now. I knew that the love I had for Logan was a love whose roots were in reality and I must cultivate that love, nourish it, and help it grow into a sturdy oak, unshakable by any wind and storm life would bring it. With Logan I would build a life, a family, a future. I had lost so much, but I still had much for which I could be grateful, much I could cherish.
Thinking about all this brought tears to my eyes, but I did not cry myself to sleep. I simply closed my eyes and felt myself sink back into the pillow, falling, drifting, slipping away, until the sound of my suite door opening roughly jerked me back into consciousness. I sat up quickly and saw a man's dark silhouette in the doorway. For a moment I thought it was Troy. My heart jumped and then plunged when I heard the voice.
"Leigh," he said, "are you awake?"
It was Tony. Even from this distance I could smell the alcohol on his bre
ath.
"What is it you want, Tony?" I asked, making my voice as cold and as hard as I could. He responded with a slight little laugh at first, and then he found the light switch on the wall and snapped it on. The room exploded with brightness. I covered my eyes and when I took my hands from them, I saw him
approaching, wearing only a shirt and slacks, his shirt unbuttoned to his navel. In his arms he carried one of Jillian's sheer nightgowns.
"I brought this for you," he said. His eyes were glassy; his hair was disheveled, looking like he had been running his fingers through it. "I love how it looks on you. Won't you wear it for me again?
Please."
"I never wore that for you, Tony. You're drunk.
Please, leave my room."
"But you did wear it for me. And look," he said, bringing his hand out from under the tightgown, "I've brought you some of Jillian's perfume. I know how much you like it. You're always trying to get her to give you some. Let me dab some on you," he said, sitting on my bed. I pulled myself farther back against the headboard, but he reached over, pressing the bottle to his fingers and then stroking the side of my neck with them. The heavy scent of jasmine filled my nostrils. I started to pull away when he brought his fingers down to the valley between my breasts.
"No, Tony, stop. I don't want to wear any of Jillian's perfume now. I said stop. You're drunk. Get out of here," I demanded. He looked at me and smiled as if he couldn't hear my words. Then, remembering the nightgown in his arms, he stood up and spread it out on the bed beside me, stroking it with affection as he did so.
"Go on, put it on," he said, "and then I'll lie down beside you as I did when you wore it before."
"Leave my room at once, Tony! I'm going to call the servants if you don't."
"Leigh," he whispered.
"I'm not Leigh!" I shouted. "I'm Heaven! Tony, get out of here! You're frightening me!"
Ignoring me again, he lifted the blanket and slipped under it to get beside me. I tried to escape, but he reached out and seized me around the waist, pulling me toward him.
"Leigh, don't leave me. Please. Don't listen to anything Jillian says. She's mad, jealous of you, jealous of every other woman. She's even jealous of our maids because one has nice hands or one has a nice chin." He brought his lips to my shoulder, pushing my nightgown down my arm with his cheek so he could press his mouth to my skin.
"Tony, stop!" I screamed.
I brought my hand to his temple and pushed him as hard as I could to keep him away from me.
When his hand touched my breast, I screamed and clawed his face with my nails.
"Get out! Get out! Don't you know who I am?
Don't you remember that I'm your own daughter and I'm pregnant!"
I slapped him across the face.
He stared at me a moment, blinking rapidly. I could see reality pushing the memories away, bringing him out of the past and back into the present.
The realization of where he was and what he was doing came to him with a jolt. He swallowed hard and looked around.
"My God," he said. "I thought . ."
"You thought? You're drunk and disgusting! I want you to get out of here. Get out!" I screamed, getting out of the bed. He stared up at me.
"Oh, Heaven, forgive me. I just . . ." He looked at the nightgown he had brought and then up at me, his hand on his reddened cheek. "I just got confused.
"Confused?" The troubled thoughts that always crowded into the darkest corners of my brain came rushing out. I remembered other times when he touched me and kissed me, and suddenly every one of them seemed ugly, lustful, incestuous. Every fear, every sick and sorrowful memory announced itself. I could barely think; my mind was an echo chamber of screams and shouts. I pressed my hands against my ears. "You'relio better than any of my backwoods relatives, my hillbilly siblings, as you used to call them!" I shouted so loud my voice broke. "Your money hasn't made a single bit of difference. You're no better than the ignorant Winnerow hillbillies who rape their daughters!"
"Heaven, no . ."
"Get out! Get out!" I shouted again.
He lifted himself from the bed, scooping up Jillian's sheer nightgown as he did so, and began to back away toward the door, shaking his head.
"Please, please forgive me. I was drunk . . I didn't know what I was doing. Please," he said, holding his hand out toward me.
I shook my head, the tears rushing down my cheeks, my body shaking.
"Get out," I hissed, my voice a raspy whisper.
"I . . . I'm sorry," he repeated and rushed out the door.
The moment he was gone, I collapsed on my
bed and wailed. I cried hysterically, unable to stop the rage of anger and sorrow from possessing me. Every sad thing that had happened restated itself and demanded to be mourned with equal intensity. I was crying for the mother I had never seen or known; crying for Tom; crying for Troy; crying because of Logan's infidelity with Fanny; crying for Luke and for Stacie; and I was crying for Heaven, poor lost little Heaven Leigh Casteel.
The feel of a cool, soft little hand on my shoulder finally stopped my outburst of tears. I took a deep breath and turned my head. Little Drake was standing there looking down at me, his face filled with confusion, but his eyes also showing compassion.
"Don't cry," he said. "I won't go away."
"Oh, Drake. Drake!" I cried and pulled him to me, holding his small body as closely and as tightly as I could. "I won't let you go away. We need each other.
Like two orphans." I kissed his forehead. "I'll always be here for you. Always."
1-le looked up at me, his face still a mirror of my own sorrow.
"I'll stop crying," I said. "Now, stop crying."
I lifted him onto my bed and we fell asleep curled up beside each other like two kittens who had lost their mother.
I awoke with Drake in my arms, his little head nestled softly against my bosom. Quietly, so as not to wake him, I slipped out of bed and got washed and dressed. It was still early and the house was quiet. The servants hadn't yet opened the curtains. Lights left on throughout the night were still on. I went down the marble stairway, moving quickly but softly, and found Curtis getting ready to start his day.
"Up early, Mrs. Stonewall," he said.
"I have a lot to do today, Curtis, and quickly.
First call the airlines and make reservations for myself and Drake. We'll be going back to Winnerow this morning. Inform Miles. Send the maids up to Drake's room. I have some clothing I've packed and some I want them to pack. There are some suitcases in my room already packed. Have Miles take them down to the car. Please ask Rye to prepare a small, quick breakfast for Drake and myself. In a day or two I shall send for some other things to be packed and delivered to my home in Winnerow."
"You're leaving Farthinggale?" Curtis asked. I didn't respond. He took one look at the sternness in my face and started to carry out my commands immediately. When I went back upstairs, I found Drake was beginning to wake up. I got him out of bed, washed and dressed him quickly. He was impressed with my intensity and hardly said a word. The maids arrived and I gave them their orders. Drake watched as they began packing his things, but he asked nothing, even when Miles began taking some of it to the limo.
"We're going for a trip to Winnerow and my own home." I told him as I took his hand to lead him down to breakfast.
"Isn't this your home?" he asked me, his small voice filled with surprise and disappointment.
"No, it's Mr. Tatterton's," I said. I couldn't bring myself to say "my father's." "But don't worry. You'll have your own room again, and you know what?
Logan is building a toy factory there. You'll see it."
That filled him with excitement and curiosity.
I saw that Curtis had reported my mood to the other servants. Everyone worked quickly, efficiently, quietly, communicated to one another with gestures and looks rather than words. I was expecting Tony to come downstairs any moment, dressed for work, and I was expecting him to try
to talk me out of going.
However, Drake and I finished our breakfast before he arrived. Even Curtis was surprised.
"Mr. Tatterton is late this morning," he said as if he had to make excuses for him. I didn't say anything. I took Drake back upstairs to my suite and placed a phone call to Logan.
"We're coming home," I told him as soon as he answered.
"Coming home?"
"Drake and I. I'll explain it all when I get there," I said.
I gave him the details concerning our flight and he said he would be at the airport. After I hung up the phone, I looked around the suite, checking for anything else I wanted to bring with me. Curtis came to the doorway to tell me that Miles had everything packed in the limo.
"That's fine, Curtis. Come along, Drake." I took his hand and we started out.
"Mrs. Stonewall," Curtis said when we were out in the corridor, "if I could trouble you for just one moment."
"What is it, Curtis?"
"Well, when Mr. Tatterton didn't come down, I thought I had better come up to check on him. I knocked on his door to see if he wanted anything brought up, but he didn't respond. And then . . ."
"Yes?" I saw that Curtis looked about as uncomfortable as I had ever seen him look. His face was flushed and he kept tugging on the collar of his shirt as though it were a size too small.
"I noticed the door to Mrs. Tatterton's suite was opened and I looked in to see if anything was wrong.
Oh, dear," he said, shaking his head.
I was getting impatient with him. "What is it, Curtis? You know yourself I have to be on my way quickly."
"I know, but . . but I wish you would have a look for yourself. I hope Mr. Tatterton's all right."
I stared at him a moment. I thought Tony was suffering a hangover this morning, a well-deserved one.
"Drake, go down with Curtis. I'll be right along," I said.
"Thank you, Mrs. Stonewall," Curtis said. He took Drake's hand and they went downstairs. I continued down the corridor to what had been Jillian's suite and peered in, just as Curtis had done.
Fallen Hearts (Casteel Series #3) Page 25