Gates of Paradise

by V. C. Andrews

  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,

  suppose; 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, dis

  covered 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 h
ated 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 hopefully 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.