"I'm not here to pay a social call, Fanny. You know that. You know why I'm here." I sat on the couch and looked at her. No matter how I felt about her, I had to admit that Fanny was an attractive woman. She wore her jet-black hair cut stylishly about her neck and her bright blue eyes were more vibrant and sparkling than ever. Her complexion was as rich and as flawless as I had ever seen it. She saw the way I was looking at her and put her hands on her hips. Her pregnancy didn't show yet, so she still had a perfect hourglass figure.
"They tell me pregnancy makes a woman look healthy," she said. "What d'ya think?"
"You look fine, Fanny. I suppose you're seeing a doctor."
"Ya suppose right. I'm seein' the fanciest, most expensive docta I kin. This baby's gettin' only the best. I already told him where ta send the bills.
"So." She smiled and sat across from me. "I take it ya had yer little talk wit' Logan."
"I'm not here to argue with you, Fanny. What happened, happened. There's no way we can be sure this early that the baby is indeed Logan's, but--"
"Fancy talkin', aren't ya? No way ya kin be sure. Suppose ta mean I sleep around wit' jus' anyone, huh? Well, I don't care how fancy ya kin talk now, ya can't talk yer way out of the truth. I haven't seen Randall for nearly a month a Sundays an' I haven't been wit' any man other than Logan. Doctor's kin tell when a baby's been made, Heaven. An' Logan Stonewall made this one," she said, jabbing her stomach. I winced.
I had come here hoping to be tough and determined, to present her with an offer and leave with some dignity, but as usual, Fanny was beyond being embarrassed or frightened. Her eyes burned back at me with stubborn, arrogant pleasure.
"I don't propose we go through any test to see what is true and what isn't, Fanny. It would only hurt everyone."
"Ya don't propose . . ." She sat back, smiling like a mad wildcat. "Well, what do ya propose, Heaven Leigh?" Her black eyes narrowed until the whites were only glimmers between her heavily lashed lids.
"Naturally, we'll take care of all the medical bills."
"Naturally. And?"
"And provide a sum to support the child and its needs . .
"And its needs includes me," she said. "I ain't a pin cushion ta prick and poke and forget about, ya know. I mean ta be treated like a woman with class, jus' like you," she said, putting her fists on her hips and spreading her legs. "Who do ya think ya are, anyway, comin' in here and offerin' jus' ta take care of the baby's needs? Yer husband comes ta me becuz ya ain't there when he needs love and tenderness and now there's hell ta pay. I gotta live with the child, don't I? gotta be tied down, don't I? I ain't gonna be able ta go around lookin' for a new man."
"Fanny," I said, smiling at her, "are you sure you want to keep this child?"
"Oh, I see what yer gettin' at. Think ya kin come in here and make me a single, one-time offa, huh? Get the baby and pretend it's yers, maybe, huh? An' then I'd have no claims ta anythin' more, right? Smart . . . only I ain't dumb no more, not dumb as I was when the Reverend took my Darcy."
"But you just said yourself how difficult it's going to be for you to have a child, and you're right. It will restrict you."
She smiled, and when Fanny smiled, even a wicked, hateful smile, her white teeth flashed brilliantly in contrast to her Indian coloring.
"I'll take that chance," she said.
"But what kind of a mother will you be for this child?" I asked, taking the most reasonable tone I could, even though it took great effort to control my anger.
Her dark eyes narrowed again.
"Now, don'cha go and start that stuff again, Heaven Leigh. It was an excuse ya had when ya couldn't get my Darcy back from Reverend Wise."
"It's not an excuse, Fanny," I said, still speaking softly. She sat back and studied me. Then she shook her head.
"Ya jus' like Pa, ain'cha? Ready ta buy and sell children, do anythin' that'll make things easier for ya."
"That's not it, not it at all," I said. How could she suggest such a thing? I wasn't looking out for myself, I was worried about what she would do to a child.
"Sure it is. Ya'll pay me a sum for the child and then go and give it away, won'tcha? Won'tcha?" she demanded.
"No. That wasn't my intent."
"Well, I don' care what ya intent was. The answer is no. I'm keepin' the baby and Logan and ya are payin' me ta keep it well. It'll be as good as any of yer kids'll be and it'll go ta the finest schools and wear the finest clothes, ya understand me, Heaven?"
"I see," I said. "So what do you propose?" I asked. The question, demanding something specific from her, took her off guard. She just blinked at me a moment. "How much do you think we should send you a month, Fanny?"
"I don' know. I suppose . . . fifteen hundred. No, two thousand."
"Two thousand dollars a month?"
She studied me to see if I was happy or sad about the amount, but I kept my face expressionless.
"Well, ole Mallory was sendin' me fifteen hundred, but that was me without a child. Better make it twenty-five hundred," she said. "I want it on the first of the month, promptly. Shouldn't be no hardship for ya, Heaven. Not with ya all buildin' this big factory here in Winnerow and all."
I stood up abruptly.
"You'll get your twenty-five hundred a month promptly, Fanny. An account will be set up for you and the child in the Winnerow bank, but I'm warning you now, if you ever, ever try to blackmail us further by threatening to tell the people of Winnerow stories about you and Logan. . . cut off every penny and let you fend for yourself.
"And I don't want you talking to Logan or trying to see him or contacting him in any way. If you have any problems, you'll call me directly,
understand?"
She stared up at me, her dark eyes brilliant, fired by hate and jealousy. Then her expression became a pained one. No one could discard one emotion and replace it with another as quickly as Fanny could.
"I'm so disappointed in ya, Heaven. I woulda thought ya'd feel sorry for me. I was the one taken advantage of, ya know. That's all men kin do is take advantage.
"Ya come ta my house, where I live all alone, jus' wit' two dumb guard dogs, come from ya place where ya got all those servants an' some family and a husban' an' all those fancy things, an' what do you do, treat me like some thief, instead of the sista who suffered wit' ya in the Willies. Ya shoulda come here offerin' ta do a whole lot more fer me."
"Life has not been as sweet for me as you think, Fanny. You're not the only one who has suffered and when I suffered, you were nowhere nearby to do anything for me. I had no one but myself."
"Ya had Tom. Ya always had Tom. He loved ya and never loved me, never cared fer me one bit. An' Keith and Jane don' care fer me, either."
"You'll get your money," I said. I started for the door. She got up to chase after me.
"They care fer ya becuz yer rich and fancy. Even when ya was poor and had nothin' but rags, ya acted rich and fancy and treated me like some poor relative. Ya neva wanted me fer a sista; ya neva cared fer me!" she screamed.
I went out the door and hurried toward my car. She followed down the sidewalk.
"Ya always wished ya neva had a sista like me. Ya neva wanted ta know me in school or afterward or ever. Heaven!" she yelled.
I turned to her. We stared at each other for a moment. I couldn't hide the truth. She was right.
"Truth was ya was jealous of me, Heaven, becuz Pa liked me, Pa held me; Pa kissed me. Right? Right?" she demanded. "Cuz yer birthin' killed his Angel and ya can't ever run away from that, Heaven. Neva, not by livin' in a palace or by buildin' factories, or nothin',"
She folded her arms across just under her breasts and smiled.
"I feel sorry for you, Fanny," I said. "You're like a flower planted in manure."
I turned and got into my car, but it was her laughter that followed me down the driveway and propelled me away as fast as I could go.
ELEVEN Life and Death
. THAT NIGHT I TOLD LOGAN ALL THE DETAILS ABOUT my meet
ing with Fanny and what I had agreed to. He sat at the kitchen table listening, his eyes fixed on a waterglass that he kept turning and turning in his hands. I spoke quickly and pointedly, realizing the discussion was painful for both of us. He didn't disagree with anything or ask any questions. When I finished speaking, he sighed deeply and then sat back.
"Heaven," he said, "I don't want to come down to Winnerow any more without you. I miss you too much. What do you say we buy a house down here. Something that will be so grand it will be the talk of the town. I need you with me, Heaven."
"What's wrong with our cabin?" I asked. "It's always been home to me. Why do we need a house?"
"Don't you think the owners and managers of what will be the community's bi est enterprise should have their own home, the kind of home where they can entertain important guests, hold dinners and parties? We can keep the cabin as a weekend retreat." Then he stood up. "I just think we need a fresh start here, Heaven, for both of us."
I thought about it. The cabin was tainted by what Fanny had done. Living somewhere else would help put that incident behind us. Besides, I knew that buying a fancy house was something his mother had been pushing for him to do ever since Logan and I were married. No amount of money or power mattered as long as we continued to spend our time in the Willies. Staying in the cabin in the hills, surrounded by the poor people, was degrading in his mother's, and in the other townspeoples', eyes. It made people think I had won him over to my world, rather than him winning me to his.
Power and money were changing Logan. He never went anywhere now without putting on a suit and tie. He bought a very expensive watch and a diamond pinky ring, had his newly grown beard trimmed every other day, and even went for manicures. When I asked him about it, he explained, "A man who steps out of a Rolls-Royce has got to look like he belongs in it."
I knew the real reason for my feelings had to do with what had happened between him and Fanny. I didn't like the idea of his staying in the isolated cabin, which had been the setting of their lovemaking, or whatever Logan chose to call it. And I thought Fanny might have been right when she blamed me for not spending enough time with Logan in Winnerow. If we had our own home there, there would be more reason for me to go along.
"I suppose you're right," I said. "What did you have in mind, building a house or buying one?"
"Buying." He sat forward, clasping his hands on the table and smiling like a Cheshire cat.
"You've already looked into it, haven't you?" "Uh-huh." There was an impish dazzle in his blue eyes and his smile widened.
"Well? What house?"
"The Hasbrouck House," he announced.
"What? You're kidding!"
He shook his head. "It's up for sale," he said.
The Hasbrouck House was a beautiful, colonial-style home a half mile east of the factory site. It was owned by Anthony Hasbrouck, who was considered "old money"; his family went back to preCivil War times.
"I don't believe that Anthony Hasbrouck would sell that house."
"His investments haven't been doing well lately and he is desperately in need of cash." Logan seemed to know a lot about Anthony Hasbrouck.
"I see." I imagined that Logan, who now hobnobbed with all the power brokers of Winnerow and the surrounding area, discovered this. By the way he was smiling, I thought he had probably already made Hasbrouck a handsome offer for the property.
I couldn't hide my excitement about it; I knew the home. Tom and I had often walked past it when we were children. To us it always looked like one of those mansions described in great novels, with its sprawling, beautifully landscaped grounds and tall pillars in the front. There was an enormous carvedoak double door that looked as if it would take a giant butler to open. It was easy to imagine wonderful dinner parties taking place in this mansion. All sorts of romantic adventures would go on behind those great oak doors.
We used to dream about living in it. Everyone in the family would have his or her own room. As the oldest daughter, I would dress like a Southern belle and take visitors out to the garden to drink mint juleps.. . . Tom would pretend he had his own string of racehorses. I smiled, remembering our silly, childish dreams that suddenly looked like some sort of prophecy. Oh, Tom, Tom, I still miss him so. My bright dreamer brother. And now every dream, one after another, was coming true, but never the way we had imagined it, never quite as bright and shiny and golden as the dream meant it to be. Logan saw the wistful smile on my face and brightened.
"I'd hoped you would agree to the idea," he said, warming more to his plan, "and went ahead and made us an appointment to view the house tomorrow morning. Is that all right?"
"Yes," I said, a little disappointed he hadn't spoken with me about it first. It reminded me too much of the way Tony did things. Logan was too much under Tony's influence, too eager to emulate him in every way. And though I was impressed with how quickly Logan was becoming a take-charge businessman, it was the soft, sweet, caring boy I had fallen in love with that I needed and missed.
The next morning Anthony Hasbrouck, a man who wouldn't have given me a second look when I was a little girl living in the Willies, who had once chased Tom and me away from his front gate, now put out the red carpet for me as he guided us on a tour of the mansion. He wore a black velvet smoking jacket, black slacks, and velvet slippers and spoke with a syrupy thick Southern accent, calling me "Heavenly," instead of "Heaven."
"Why, thank you for showing us your place, Mr. Hasbrouck," I said.
"You call me Sonny, all my friends do."
"Sonny it is, then," I said, turning to Logan. "If we take this house," I whispered loudly enough for Mr. Hasbrouck to hear, "we're going to have to have the whole place redecorated. It's just been allowed to fall to pieces." I enjoyed going on and on about how much more glorious his house would become in my care, how many more rugs there would have to be, how the old kitchen wouldn't do at all. I rarely enjoyed flaunting my wealth, but with people like Mr. Hasbrouck, people who had looked down on us Casteels, who had chased my lovely Tom away from his dreams, I truly did enjoy it.
"And most of all," I said, taking Logan's arm as we strolled through the grounds, "we are going to have to have a lot more servants and gardeners--I just can't believe what has happened to this old estate."
Mr. Hasbrouck turned bright red. He kept twirling his mustache and gritting his teeth. I knew he couldn't stand to have to sell his house to a Casteel, but as Logan assured me, he needed the money.
"Sonny," I said, smiling brightly and acting as charming as I could, "I do like your home, but I'm afraid the price is just too high for what we'll be getting." I forced my face into a frown.
Logan was flabbergasted. He reeled around. "But, Heaven, darling--"
"I suppose your pretty little wife is right," Mr. Hasbrouck said. His face was now as red as a tomato. "Heavenly, you sure do strike a hard bargain."
As soon as we got into the car, Logan swept me into his arms. "Not only do I have the prettiest wife in town, but I have the smartest. I can't wait until we get back to Farthy so I can tell Tony how you handled this."
It was three days later, when Tony ushered Logan and me into his office for a welcome-home drink, that Logan announced the news. "Tony," he began, his eyes glittering with pride and excitement, "Heaven and I have taken the first big step of our marriage. We've bought our own home."
At first I could barely read Tony's response, it was such a mixture of muted surprise, sadness, loneliness. Then he simply looked bereft.
He didn't say anything one way or the other about it, but I sensed he wasn't happy that we had bought the Hasbrouck house. It was too much of a home away from home, and the reality that we had another life, apart from the one at Farthy, was not something he liked. I felt sorry for him, knowing he feared being lonely, especially now, with Jillian gone.
As the weeks passed, while I should have been absorbed in ordering wallpaper and draperies, rugs and furniture, and inquiring into household help, I found myself barely able
to get out of bed. Tiredness had become my constant companion, and I felt somehow distant from myself, as if I didn't really know who I was or what I wanted. Had it been a mistake to buy the house? Why was I feeling so confused, so listless? I made several trips into Boston, to the posh department stores, to order things for our new home, only to return to Farthy wrung-out and exhausted.
"Heaven," Logan said one night after dinner, when I told him I Was going to bed early, "you seem too tired these days. Is something wrong? I hope this new move isn't going to be too much of a strain on you."
"I'm fine, darling," I murmured.
"I want you to see the doctor tomorrow, Heaven. This isn't like you."
The doctor's conclusion nearly left me speechless. "Pregnant?"
"No doubt about it," he said, smiling.
This was wonderful! Why hadn't I suspected it myself? I had to giggle to myself. Of course, this explained everything! A baby! I had always dreamed about having my own family, and now that dream was coming true. Oh, I was so happy! How I would cherish and love and protect my own little one! She would never see any of the pain and agony I and my brothers and sisters had endured. Although Logan and I hadn't sat down and planned it, it did seem to be the perfect time to have our first child. We would have the new factory; we would have the new house in Winnerow, and we would have a new baby. Fatherhood, I thought, would return to me the joyful, boyish Logan I had married, it would bring him back to earth, down from his business pedestal.
"Mrs. Stonewall," the doctor said, bringing me back to earth, "I'm going to examine you so we can determine exactly how long you've been pregnant."
My heart skipped a beat.
"It's important that we know so that we can prepare properly for the little one's arrival."
With great care and thoroughness the doctor examined me.
"Why don't you get dressed now and step into my office," he said when he was finished, "so that we can go over everything."
I was trembling so. "Please, Dr. Grossman, could you tell me how old the baby is?"
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