Heaven (Casteel Series #1)

by V. C. Andrews

  "Shut yer mouth, an be grateful I didn't name ya Stupid."

  Squelched, Maisie blushed and hung her head.

  Perhaps Kitty's tales of a nightmare childhood, told long ago to Cal, had been true after all.

  What I could see of the house seemed spacious, neat, and rather pretty, and I was soon led to a bedroom where Kitty had already been put on a hospital bed and was stretched out in her modest pink nightgown. As Cal pulled up-the sheet he glanced at me, smiled, then addressed Kitty's mother. "Reva, I truly appreciate your offer to take Kitty in and do what you can for her. I've been paying nurses around the clock. But if you can manage with one night nurse, I'll send you a weekly check to pay for her services, and the expenses of Kitty's medical needs."

  "We ain't poor," stated Reva. "Done already said we kin take kerr of our own." She glanced around the pretty room. "You kin call me Reva, girl," she said to me. "This used t'be Kitty's room—ain't so bad, is it?

  Kitty always made it seem we had her in a pigsty. A jail, she used t'call it. Couldn't wait t'grow up an run off with some man . . . first one who'd take her . . . an now look at her. That's what comes of sinnin, an neva doin what she should of . . ."

  What could I say to that?

  In fifteen minutes I had Kitty refreshed with a sponge bath and slipped into a clean, pretty pink gown. She stared at me sleepily, with a kind of wonder in her fuzzy gaze, then drifted off into sleep.

  What a relief to see those strange eyes closed.

  Downstairs in a pleasant living room we all sat while Cal explained Kitty's strange illness that no doctor could diagnose. Reva Setterton's lips curled upward to display contempt. "Kitty was born complainin bout everythin. Neva could fix nothin up right enough fer her t'like. She neva liked me, her pa, or nobody else—unless they were male an handsome.

  Maybe this time I kin make up fer all my failures in t'past . . . now that she kin't answer back, an make me madder'n hell."

  "True, true," volunteered Maisie, clinging like a burr to my side. "Ain't nothin but trouble when Kitty comes t'stay. Don't like nothin we do or nothin we say. Hates Winnerrow. Hates all of us, yet she keeps comin back . . ." And on and on Maisie rattled, following me to my room, watching me as I

  unpacked, and she soon was gasping at the display of all the fancy lingerie and pretty dresses that had filled my closet once Kitty was too sick to care how much money Cal spent on me.

  "Bet she's awful hard t'live with," pried Maisie, falling flat on the yellow bedspread and staring at me with admiring green eyes. She lacked something that Kitty used to have, the vitality, and the toughness.

  "Kitty's never been much of a sister. She was off an married up time I was old nough t'remember. Neva liked Ma's cookin. Now she'll have t'eat it, like or not." Maisie smirked like a satisfied cat. "Neva likes nothin we do or say. She's a queer one, our Kitty. But it makes me feel sad t'know she's lyin on a bed, unable t'move. What did it t'her?"

  That was a good question, a very good question that the doctors had asked many times.

  When Maisie left, I sank into a tub chair

  covered with a chintz yellow print and gave it more thought. How had it all begun? After Chuckles was killed? I thought backward, closing my eyes and concentrating, trying again to find a clue. Perhaps it had started the day when Kitty came storming home, furious because half her clients had shown up late for appointments. "Damn crappy women!" Kitty had bellowed. "As if they thinks they're betta than me, an kin keep me waitin like I don't have nothin betta t'do.

  I'm hungry, got me t'worst kind of appetite—an I keep losin weight! Wanna eat, an eat, then eat some more."

  "I'm hurrying as fast as I can," I'd answered, racing from sink to stove.

  "Goin up t'take a bath . . . ya be finished time I'm back."

  Clickity-clack went her high heels up the stairs.

  I could almost see Kitty up there, ripping off her pink uniform, letting it fall to the floor, stripping off her undergarments, letting them fall as well.

  Clothes that I'd have to pick up, wash, and take care of. I heard the water in the tub running. Heard Kitty singing in a loud voice, the same song she always sang when she was bathing.

  "Down in t'valley. . . . valley so low. . . owww, owww . .

  Late in t'evenin . . . hear t'train blow . . . owww, owww . ."

  Over and over again, until the song ate into my brain, chewed on my nerves. Just those two lines, repeated until I wanted to stuff my ears with cotton.

  Then the scream.

  That long, horrible scream.

  I'd gone flying up the stairs, expecting to find Kitty had slipped in the tub and cracked her head on the tile . . . and all I found was Kitty standing nude before a bathroom mirror, staring with wide, appalled eyes at her naked right breast. "Cancer, got me a breast cancer."

  "Mother, you'll have to go to a doctor. It could be just a benign cyst, or a benign tumor."

  "What t'hell does 'benign' mean?" she'd yelled.

  "They're gonna cut it off, slice me with one of those scalpel knives, mutilate me . . . an no man will want me then! I'll be lopsided, half a woman, an I've neva had my baby! Neva gonna know what it feels like t'nurse my own child! . . . Done tole me, they have, I don't have no cancer. But I know I do! Jus know I do!"

  "You've already been to a doctor . . . Mother?"

  "Yes, damn you, YES! What do they know?

  When yer on yer deathbed, that's when they know!"

  It had been crazy and wild, the way Kitty had carried on, screaming until I had to call Cal, asking him to come home immediately, and then I'd gone back up the stairs to find Kitty lying on her wide bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, just staring at nothing.

  Darn if I could really remember . . .

  After our first meal in the Setterton home, which was really very good, I helped Reva and Maisie with the dishes; then all three of us joined Mr.

  Setterton on the porch. On a glider I managed to remind Cal of that day while Reva Setterton bustled about upstairs, forcing food down Kitty's mouth. "She ate it," she said when she was back, sitting stiffly in a reed rocker. "Ain't nobody in my house gonna starve t'death."

  "Reva, a few months ago, Kitty said she found a lump in her breast. And she said she went to a doctor who reported she didn't have a malignant growth—but how can we know if she really went?

  However, when she was in the hospital for two weeks, they went over her thoroughly and they didn't find anything suspicious."

  For some odd reason, Kitty's mother got up and left the porch.

  "An that's all, all?" asked Maisie, her green eyes wide. "What a dope to clam up until she knew. . .

  but then again, she's sure got some great ones, ain't she? With that kind, could hardly blame her for not wantin t'know."

  "But," said Cal, sitting close at my side, "her doctors checked her over, Maisie."

  "Wouldn't make no difference t'Kitty," Maisie said with surprising complacency. "Breast cancer runs in our family. Got a whole long history of it. Ma's had both hers taken off. Wears fake ones now. That's why she walked away. Kin't stand t'hear people talk about it. Neva would know it, though, would ya? Our ma's mom had one off. Pa's ma had one off, then died before they could ctit bff t'other. Always Kitty's been scared t'death of losing what she's so proud of."

  Maisie looked thoughtfully down at her own small breasts. "Ain't got much myself, compared t'hers, but I'd sure hate losing one—sure would."

  Could this be it, explained so simply?

  Something neither the doctors nor I nor Cal had thought of. Her secret to brood over. The reason why Kitty had retreated into a solitary world—where cancer didn't exist.

  Two hours passed, and that was enough for me to sense that something about Cal was different now that he was in the home of Kitty's parents; something that put a distance between us. I didn't quite understand what it was, though I felt relieved and grateful, sensing he no longer needed me as much as he had. Maybe it was pity for Kitty that softened his eyes when
he sat beside her bed and tried to hold her hand. I stood in the doorway and watched him trying to console Kitty before I turned and walked away.

  What had happened between Cal and me would stay my most shameful, terrible secret.

  When I was downstairs and on the porch

  wondering what to do next, I thought of Tom. Was this the day I'd feast my eyes on him—and Fanny as well?

  And Logan—when will I see you again? Will

  you know me now, be happy I'm back . . . or will you turn away as you did that last time, when your parents were beside you? He'd never said a word to explain his action, as if he thought I hadn't noticed.

  That first night Maisie and I slept together in her room, and Cal was given a cot to sleep on in the room with Kitty. Very early the next morning I was up and fully dressed while the others were still in bed.

  I had one foot on the step going down when Cal called from behind me, "Heaven, where are you going?"

  "To visit Fanny," I said in a whisper, fearing to turn and meet his eyes, feeling a thousand times more ashamed in Winnerrow than I'd felt in Candlewick.

  "Let me go with you. Please."

  "Cal," I implored, "if you don't mind, I'd like to do this myself. My relationship with Fanny has always been difficult. With you there, she might not talk honestly. And I need to hear the truth and not a pack of lies."

  His voice was gruff. "How swiftly you run, Heaven, the moment you are on familiar territory. Are you running from me? Using any excuse to escape me? You don't need an excuse; I don't own you. You go on, and I'll stay here to tend to Kitty, and make plans for her care with her parents—but I'll miss you while you're gone."

  It hurt to hear the pain in his voice; still, it felt good to escape the house and leave all that behind.

  Each step I took away from the Setterton home made me younger, happier.

  I was going to see Fanny.

  My feet chose a roundabout way so I'd have to pass by Stonewall Pharmacy. My pulse quickened as I neared the familiar store. I was just strolling by, truthfully not expecting to see Logan just because I was thinking about him and wondering what kind of boy he was by this time. I glanced inside the wide glass windows, my heart almost in my mouth, and didn't see him. I sighed, and then I caught the interested stare of two dark blue eyes belonging to a handsome young man who was stepping out of a sporty dark blue car. I froze, staring back at—Logan Grant Stonewall.

  Oh, gosh!

  He seemed caught in the same dream I was,

  both of us staring, disbelieving.

  "Heaven Leigh Casteel . . is that you, or am I dreaming?"

  "It's me. Is that you, Logan?"

  His face irisIantly brightening, he came quickly to me, grasping both my hands and holding them tightly as he stared into my eyes, then pulled in his breath. "You've grown up . . . really grown up to be so beautiful." He blushed, stammered, and then smiled.

  "I don't know why I'm surprised; I always knew you'd grow more beautiful."

  I was shy, snared in a spider's web of my own making, wanting to ffing myself into his arms as he held them out inviting me to do just that. "Thank you for answering all my letters . . or most of them."

  He looked disappointed because I didn't make the next move. "When I got your note saying you were bringing Kitty Dennison back here, I wrote and told Tom."

  "So did I," I whispered, still staring at how handsome he was, how tall and strong-looking. I felt shamed and sick that I'd not held Cal off, to wait for this clean, pure, shining kind of love that would have been so right. I lowered my eyes, terrified he might see something that I didn't want him to see. I trembled with the guilt I felt, then backed off a foot or more so as not to contaminate him with my sins. "Sure will be wonderful to see lbm again," I said weakly, trying to pull my hands from his grip as he stepped forward to hold them even tighter.

  "Not so wonderful to see me again?" Gently he tugged me closer, until he released my hands only to slide his arms about my waist. "Look at me, Heaven.

  Don't look down. Why are you acting as if you don't love me anymore? I've been waiting so long for this day, wondering what I'd say, and what you'd say, and how we'd act . . . and now you're not meeting my eyes. All the time you've been gone I've thought of no one else. Sometimes I go to your cabin and wander about in those abandoned rooms, thinking of you and how tough you had it, and how brave you were, never complaining or feeling sorry for yourself. Heaven, you're like a rose, a wild, beautiful rose, sweeter and more lovely than any other. Please, put your arms around me. Kiss me, say you still love me!"

  Everything I'd ever dreamed he'd say, he said, and again I was flooded with guilt—if he knew the truth—and yet I couldn't resist the pleading in his eyes, or the urging of my own romantic nature that said, yes, Logan! I flung my arms about him and felt myself lifted up and swung around. My head lowered so I could put my lips on his, and I kissed him so passionately I think it took his breath away, though he returned my kiss with even more fervor. His eyes shone when we separated, and he was breathing heavily.

  "Oh, Heaven, this is the way I knew it would be

  . . ." he whispered breathlessly.

  Now we were both speechless, our young

  bodies calling to each other. He pulled me against him so I could feel his excitement. It reminded me of Cal.

  This wasn't what I wanted! I tried to draw away, cringing as I shoved against him, shuddering and overwhelmed with a wild kind of terror, not only of Logan but of every man. Don't touch me that way! I wanted to yell. Just kiss me, embrace me, and let that be enough!

  Of course he didn't understand my resistance. I could tell from the startled way his eyes widened, but he let me go. "I apologize, Heaven," he said in a low, humble way. "I suppose I forgot it's been two years and eight months since we'd seen each other—but in your letters you sounded as if we'd never feel like strangers . . ."

  I tried to sound normal and not terrified. "It's been great seeing you again, Logan, but I'm in kind of a hurry . . ."

  "You mean you're leaving? And we're only going to have these few minutes together? Heaven, didn't you hear me say I love you?"

  "I have to go, really I do."

  "Wherever you're going, I'm going too."

  NO! Leave me alone, Logan! You don't want me now!

  "I'm sorry, Logan. I'm going to see Fanny, and then Grandpa . . . and I think it's best if I see Fanny alone. Perhaps tomorrow . . ?"

  "No perhaps, definitely a date. Early tomorrow, say eight o'clock, so we can spend the day together.

  You said a lot in your letters, but not nearly enough.

  Heaven—"

  I whirled around, trying to smile. "I'll see you tomorrow early. See you all day, if that's what you want."

  "If that's what I want? Of course that's what I want! Heaven, don't look at me like that! As if I frighten you! What's wrong? Don't tell me nothing is!

  You've changed! You don't love me now, and you haven't got the nerve to tell me!"

  I sobbed, "That's not true."

  "Then what is it?" he demanded, his young face taking on a more mature look. "If we don't talk about it, whatever it is will put up a wall that sooner or later we'll never be able to climb."

  "Good-bye, Logan," I threw out, hurrying away. "Where?" he called out, sounding desperate.

  "Here or the Setterton place?"

  "Come there. Any time after seven," I said with a nervous laugh. "I'll be up early to help with Kitty."

  If only I'd come back to him still innocent, still a girl he could teach . . . and yet, even so, it felt good, really good, to walk away knowing his eyes were following me with admiration so strong I could almost feel it reaching out and touching me. His devotion warmed my heart. Then I heard him running to catch up. "What will it hurt if I walk you to the parsonage, then disappear? I can't wait until tomorrow to hear the truth. Heaven . . . you told me that day in your cabin that your pa sold Keith and Our Jane, Fanny and Tom—were you sold?"

  "Yes
," I said shortly, putting too much misdirected anger in my voice because he could still doubt, even now. "Sold, like an animal, for five hundred bucks! I was carted away to work like a slave for a crazy woman who hates Pa as much as I do!"

  "Why are you yelling at me? I didn't sell you!

  I'm terribly sorry that you've suffered—but damned if I can see that you have! You look terrific, wearing expensive, beautiful clothes, like a debutante, and you come and tell me you've been sold and treated like a slave. If all slaves end up looking like beauty queens, maybe all girls should be sold into slavery."

  "What an insensitive remark to make, Logan Stonewall!" I snapped, feeling as mean as Kitty at her worst. "I used to think you were so kind and understanding! Just because you can't see my scars doesn't mean I don't have them!" Now I was crying, my words breaking. And only a few minutes ago he had been so sweet. Unable to say more, and angry at myself for always losing my control and breaking into childish tears, I turned away again.

  "Heaven . . . don't turn away. I'm sorry. Forgive me for being insensitive. Give me another chance.

  We'll talk it out, like we used to do."

  For his own good, I should run off and never see him again, and yet I couldn't let go of a boy I'd loved from the moment I'd first seen him. And with differences forgotten for the moment, side by side we walked until we came to the fine house of Reverend Wayland Wise.

  He held my hand as I stared at the parsonage.

  A pure white house, a pious house, a grand house, surrounded by two acres of beautiful flower gardens and manicured lawns. This house made Kitty's home in Candlewick seem a shack. I sighed.

  Sighed again for Fanny, who was now a young lady of sixteen and four months, and Tom, like me, was seventeen, and Keith would soon be twelve, Our Jane eleven. Oh, to see them again, to know they were healthy, happy.

  But first Fanny.

  Now that I was here, I could only stand and stare at the grandest house in all of Winnerrow.

  Corinthian columns lined the long porch. The steps up were made of intricately laid red bricks. Red geraniums and red petunias grew in huge terra-cotta planters. On the porch were sturdy-looking white wicker chairs with high fancy peacock backs.