Gates of Paradise (Casteel Series #4)

by V. C. Andrews

  By the time we arrived at Farthy, the throng of mourners were gathered at the front of the house.

  Besides Miles and Curtis and Rye Whiskey, there were dozens of Tony's business associates, as well as many people who worked for Tatterton Toys. Most were fol nially dressed in black and gathered in small cliques, greeting one another, shaking hands, kissing cheeks and talking softly.

  It was a warm, but overcast fall .day, a perfect funeral day, I thought. Everything looked grayer than ever, and the bleakness emphasized how rundown Farthinggale Manor was. I couldn't help but remember the proud way Tony had described it when we had first driven out here . . his ancestral home, improved and expanded by every succeeding Tatterton heir.

  How ironic it was that he had an heir who would truly follow in his footsteps but who had no relationship to him at all, for Drake was Luke Casteel's son, the man from whom Tony had bought his own daughter. And now, in every sense of the word, he had bought Drake, bought himself an heir.

  And Drake had indeed taken charge. He stood up front by the hearse, dressed in an ebony-black tuxedo. His face was as somber and dark as an undertaker's. The people he hired to conduct the funeral were quietly checking with him for instructions. There were people directing cars and handing out small prayer and hymn cards.

  Luke pulled his car into line and I gazed up at the main house again, the mystery and excitement of the big, old gray-stone building gone, replaced with unpleasant memories. The window of what had been my room was dark. All the curtains had been drawn, the panes becoming mirrors reflecting the dismal, cloudy sky.

  The servants came to greet me first. Curtis looked shattered, his blue lips trembling; Miles looked stunned, his cheeks cold, his eyes distant. Even Rye looked very old to me. Bereavement had aged him quickly; he and Tony Tatterton had been together for so many years.

  Drake approached us soon after, ignoring Luke and coming directly to my side of the car.

  "How are you, Annie?"

  "I'm fine, Drake." I was determined to be my mother's daughter and keep my dignity and strength.

  "It will all begin soon." He leaned closer to me.

  "Do you know who is here? Who is alive after all?"

  "Yes."

  He recoiled with surprise.

  "You do?"

  "If you would have let me talk to you calmly instead of accusing me of being ungrateful and accusing Luke of terrible things, I would have been able to tell you I had met him here and he was the one who called Aunt Fanny and told her to come to get me."

  "But . . why?"

  "Because he saw what was happening, Drake.

  He knew some of the things you refused to see," I said, not attempting to hide my anger.

  Drake glanced at Luke and then turned to me again.

  "Well . . I . . . did what I thought was best for you, Annie. I'm sorry," he said remorsefully.

  "Let's put it behind us, Drake, and do what we've come here to do," I said firmly.

  "Yes. Of course." One of the undertakers signaled him. "I'll talk to you later."

  He went back to the hearse. I looked

  everywhere for Troy but I didn't see him. Where was he?

  My question was answered after the line of cars pulled away from the house and wound its way to the family cemetery. He was already there, saying his private good-bye. He came directly to our car as soon as we arrived. His dark, melancholy eyes brightened when he saw me.

  Now that he was dressed in a black suit and tie, was able to see the resemblances between him and Tony more clearly. However, where Tony's eyes had been bright and excited by his confusion and sadness, Troy's were calm.

  "Hello, Annie. Was the trip all right?"

  "Yes, Troy. Troy, this is Luke."

  "Oh yes." They shook hands. I saw from the way they looked into each other's eyes that they liked each other instantly, and that warmed my heart. When opened my door, they both rushed to help me, but Luke got there first. Troy stepped back and watched him help me out of the car.

  "Just a cane now. That's good," Troy said when Luke handed it to me. "How much of a difference tender loving care can make."

  Luke, Troy, and I moved to the front of the crowd. I saw how Troy's eyes followed Luke's hand as it grasped mine. Troy watched us in a most peculiar way, his eyes growing smaller, his face darkening. He nodded gently to himself and then turned to hear the clergyman's words.

  Drake delivered a short eulogy afterward,

  describing Tony as a pioneer businessman whose imagination tapped new markets and created an entirely new industry. I was impressed with how experienced and knowledgeable he appeared. He looked years and years older, and I thought Tony had been right about him—he was executive material.

  The clergyman then asked everyone to sing the hymn written on the cards we were all given. During the hymn my eyes shifted from Tony's monument to my parents' monument. Graveyards have a way of making all life's struggles seem simple and meaning-less, I thought. All family squabbles die and are buried here, too: Jillian's madness, Tony's lusts and confused passions, my grandmother Leigh's flight from who she was, my mother's frustrated and lost love . . . all of it was put to rest. Only those of us who remained had to struggle still.

  For a long moment Troy and I looked at each other, and I think he knew I understood why he would want to ride into the ocean that fateful day. He looked from me to Luke and back to me. As soon as the hymn ended and the clergyman said his final words, Troy turned to us.

  "Won't the two of you come to my cottage for a little something to eat and drink before you start back?"

  "I'd like that," Luke replied. I simply nodded. I looked for Drake, but he was busy greeting business ssociates, shaking hands and discussing actions to be taken in the near future. I didn't think he even noticed we had left.

  I had the strangest feeling when we drove up to the cottage, approaching it on a road off the rear of the cemetery. It was as if we had all become miniaturized and we were about to enter the toy cottage, become citizens of a toy world, a world of magic and make-believe, the world Luke and I had lived in for so much of our lives. Troy, the master creator of the Tatterton Toy world was our magician. He would touch us with his magic wand and make the ugly and the sad world go away.

  Luke loved the cottage and was fascinated with all of Troy's new creations, especially the medieval vil- lage. Troy prepared sandwiches and drinks for us, and he and Luke talked about college, Boston, and some of the things he was creating I sat back and listened, happy the two of them were getting along so well

  Finally, Troy sat back, a gentle smile on his face as he looked from me to Luke.

  "Tell me what your plans are now."

  "Plans? Luke's back in college. He'll go on to be a doctor. I suppose I"ll travel through Europe as my parents originally planned for me to do, so I can study the Great Masters, and then attend college myself to develop my art talent. We'll go our separate ways and do what we can to make our lives meaning ful."

  "I see." He looked away, the smile lifting off his face and disappearing like smoke. When he looked back at us, his face was full of sorrow and pain again.

  "I must confess that I have brought you here with ulterior motives in mind. Believe me when I tell you I have agonized for days over these things. The greater temptation is to bury the past alongside Tony and Heaven and Logan, and live out my days as I am now. . . ghostlike, apart from the real world, involved only in my make-believe, my toys.

  "How safe and secure the make-believe world is. But I have the feeling that is something you two already know, for you have found it to be a safe haven for your true feelings." He looked at us knowingly, and I wondered how someone who had seen and spoken with me only a short time could understand me so well and perceive my secret anguish so quickly.

  He turned to his tiny creations.

  "I can imagine a whole life for myself, populate it with the kinds of people I like and design events to fit what I want to happen. It's my particular madness, s
uppose; not as debilitating as Tony's madness was, but nevertheless, a form of escape.

  "But after seeing you two, I realize I can't do it; I can't forgetaand bury myself here. Even though it uncovers terrible emotional wounds and forces me to face sad reality, I must; for I must not let what happened to Heaven and me happen to you and Luke."

  "Troy, you don't have to do this to yourself." I looked at Luke. "We ready know."

  "Know?"

  "I was looking closely at the toy cottage you sent my mother shortly after my birth. It was you who sent it, wasn't it?" He nodded. "And I happened to peer closely into the door at the rear of the kitchen .

  the same door that you have in there," I added, pointing.

  "And I found the letter you wrote to my mother the day Jillian died and you decided to leave."

  Instead of the surprise and perhaps the

  embarrassment I expected, Troy merely nodded, a strange, small smile forming at the corners of his mouth, his eyes suddenly taking on a faraway look.

  "She kept that, did she? How like her to do that, and how like her to hide it away in the cottage by the stairway. Oh, Heaven . . my darling Heaven." He turned back to me, his gaze sharply focused on me now. "So you found out that your mother and I were lovers, secret lovers."

  He stood up, went to one of the front windows, and gazed out so long, I thought he was not going to say another word. Luke reached for my hand and we waited patiently. Suddenly all the clocks struck the hour and a light blue music-box clock that was shaped like the cottage opened its front door and the tiny family within emerged and then retreated to the sweet, haunting melody I had come to know so well.

  "Troy . . ."

  "I'm all right," he said, and returned to his seat.

  "Some of what I am about to tell you, your mother might have told you herself.

  "Years ago, when she lived the hard life in the Willies, she met your father and they became young lovers, pledging their hearts to one another. If your mother had remained in the Willies, she might very well have married your father and lived a quiet, happy life in Winnerrow, but Fate would not have it so.

  "After Luke Casteel broke up his family by selling off his children, your mother lived with a very selfish, jealous woman, Kitty Dennison, and her husband Cal. It was a hard life for her because Kitty became jealous of your mother, and Cal . . .

  eventually took advantage of her. It's not hard to understand how such a thing could happen. Your mother was young and desperately searching for someone to love and cherish her. Cal, an older man, a father figure, sensed that.

  "For a while that soured Logan, and even after Kitty's death, when your mother came to Farthy to live while he was going to college in Boston, he rejected her. She led a lonely life here. I was in the inidst of a very bad time myself, convinced I would not live long. I was bitter and withdrawn. Your mother and I met, and for a time she filled my life with hope and happiness. We talked about marriage and made wonderful plans.

  "Then Heaven left to pursue her lost family, and while she was away, as you know from the letter you read, Jillian told me the truth: Tony was Heaven's father; she was my niece. Knowing we could never marry, I wrote her a letter and left Farthy to travel and try to forget.

  "I returned while she was away- and, as you know, rode Jillian's horse Abdtilla Bar into the ocean, convincing everyone, even Tony, I was dead.

  "And I was dead, dead to anything warm and hopeful, just wandering about, waiting for the inevitable end of my wretched existence.

  "But it didn't come. I lived on past the time I had drea4t I would die. Once again, hopeful, even renewed, I returned, dreaming of some kind of existence with Heaven, but by then she had reunited with Logan and they had married. I was living in the cottage secretly and secretly watched their wedding receptite at Farthy, my heart shriveling.

  "For a while I wandered about the grounds and even entered the building surreptitiously, behaving as one of Rye Whiskey's spirits, just so I could see her ueobserved. Your mother sensed my presence and carne to the cottage. I tried to hide from her in the tunnels, but she pursued and . . discovered me, discovered I was really still alive.

  "We both mourned the love we had lost, but"—his eyes lifted to gaze upon my face—"we didn't leave it at that, even though we parted and determined we could never see each other again. She returned that night. God forgive me, I hoped and prayed she would.

  I even left my door open.

  "She came and we had one last loving night together, a special, precious night, Annie, for there is no doubt in my mind as I look upon you now that your birth was a direct result of that stolen night of love."

  My tears were streaming down my face

  throughout his tale, but when he said those final lines, my heart paused and Luke squeezed my hand as though he had been abruptly woken from a deep sleep.

  "What . . . what are you saying?"

  "I'm saying you are my daughter, Annie; my daughter, not Logan's. I'm saying you and Luke are not blood related. Fanny and Heaven were not sisters and Logan was not your father, although I'm sure he loved you as much as any father could love a daughter, even though deep in his heart he might have known.

  "Believe me, I agonized over telling you all this, for I feared you would think less of your mother because of it, but I finally concluded Heaven would have wanted me to tell you so that you and Luke would not lose one another as she and I did.

  "If there is truly a curse on the Tattertons, it is born out of our refusal to be honest with our hearts, and I will not let that happen to you.

  "Lift the dark shadows from Farthy; shine a light of life over it, Annie. Understand and forgive people who were turned and twisted by cruel Fate, whose only fault was they longed too hard and too much for love."

  He lowered his head, exhausted from his

  revelations. For a long moment neither Luke nor I spoke. Then I reached forward and slowly took my father's hand. He looked up to meet my eyes, and in his eyes I saw Mommy's face. I saw her smiling, beautiful face. I felt her comfort and her love, and I knew that everything Troy had told us was born of love, words from the heart.

  I hated no one; I faulted no one. Actions taken long ago had determined that two families as different as night and day would cross paths and destinies. The turmoil that resulted swept up both houses, kept them forever in the midst of winds of passion and hate, driving some mad, shaking the very foundations of both families.

  Now Luke and I stood alone in this confusion.

  Now my true father had decided it was time to end it.

  He showed us the way out of the maze.

  "We don't hate and there is no one to forgive."

  He smiled through his tears.

  "There is so much of Heaven in you. I believe what you have of her will be strong enough to overcome any melancholy you have inherited from me.

  "For a long time, I lived in shame, regretting that night of love Heaven and I shared, but when I saw how beautiful you were and realized what your life could be if you were free of all the lies and deceptions, I decided to give you the best, the only gift I could . . . the truth."

  "It's the most beautiful gift of all. Thank you . .

  . Father." I stood up to embrace him. We held each other tightly, and when we parted, he kissed me on the cheek.

  "Go now and live, free of all the shadows." He shook Luke's hand.

  "Love and cherish her as your father came to love and cherish Heaven,"

  "I will."

  "Good-bye."

  "But we'll come to see you, again and again," I cried.

  "I'd like that. It won't be hard to find me. I'll always be here. My flight from life is over now."

  He escorted us out and we kissed and embraced once more. Then Luke and I got into his car. I looked back once to wave good-bye. The melancholy part of me made me worry that I would never see him again, projected me forward to a time when I would return to a cottage empty but for the unfinished toys. But my happier, and hop
efully stronger, side, shoved the dark pictures away and replaced them with images of an older Troy, still working on his toys, greeting me and Luke and our children.

  Luke reached across the seat to squeeze my hand. "Stop at the cemetery one more time, please, Luke."

  "Of course."

  After he did, I got out and he and I went to the monuments. We stood before them silently, holding hands.

  In the distance the great stone house loomed as majestic and tall as ever. Sunlight found an opening in the clouds and widened and widened it until bright rays washed over the grounds and the building.

  Luke and I looked at each other. In my memory our fantasy words replayed themselves: ". . . maybe it becomes whatever you want it to become . . . if I want it to be made of sugar and maple, it will be."

  "And if I want it to be a magnificent castle with lords and ladies-in-waiting and a sad prince moping about, longing for his princess to come, it will be."

  "Be my princess, Annie," Luke said suddenly, as if he heard my thoughts.

  "Forever and ever?"

  "Forever and ever."

  "Oh yes, Luke. Yes."

  He put his arm around my waist and then we turned away and went back to the car.

  I smiled to myself, positive that back in the cottage, Troy was listening to the tinkle of a Chopin melody.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Part 1

  PART 2

  Part 3