Dark Angel

by V. C. Andrews

  Early the next morning, Tony tucked me into his most impressive limo, covered my legs snugly with a heavy fur rug, and we were off to Tatterton Toy Company for the official starting day of the Christmas season.

  I was stunned at the size of the store. Six floors of nothing but toys! It wasn't yet ten o'clock, and hordes of warmly dressed people crowded outside, staring into the display windows. Tony had a commanding way of pushing through the crowds until he and I were next to the steamy glass, our noses cold from staring in. Every window had a different theme, and I could have cried for the one with Tiny Tim without a goose, until the door popped open and Scrooge was there.

  The display windows impressed me so much I was breathless, like a child caught in a dream of riches. The salespeople were dressed in red, black, and white uniforms with lots of gold embellishments. To my surprise, even those who didn't look wealthy did their share of buying as well. "You can't tell a person's worth by their clothes anymore," said Tony. "Besides, everyone is collectible-conscious today."

  It wasn't until we reached the sixth floor that I spied the special glass and gold case containing the Tatterton Toy Portrait Dolls.

  I gave each young girl there extremely critical attention, before I asked Tony: "Who makes the portrait doll?"

  "Oh," he answered casually, "aren't they beautiful? We look the world over for young girls with special qualities, and then our best artisans make a portrait doll of them. It takes many months."

  "Was my mother of the type original dolls are modeled from?"

  Tony smiled before he turned his head my way. "She was the most beautiful girl I've ever seen-- except for you. But she was a modest, shy girl, who didn't want to pose, so I lost my chance to immortalize Leigh . ."

  "You mean there never was a portrait doll of my mother?" Deep in my heart I felt waves of dread. Why wasn't he telling me the truth?

  "Not that I know of," he answered blandly, then directed me to the other toy attractions he wanted me to see.

  He tugged me off to show me historical dolls in authentic costumes. "Are you sure a portrait doll was not made of my mother, without your authorization?"

  "Nobody _does anything without my authorization. Now, please, Heaven, drop the subject. It's a sore one with me."

  Why was he looking like that? Why, as if what happened or didn't happen yesterday had nothing at all to do with today--when it did, it did!

  In my mind, the most important events had happened long before I was born, to create my life, to shape my world, to give me endless questions to ask that no one wanted to answer.

  After Tony finished showing me the store, he went to his office, and I stayed on in Boston to do my own Christmas shopping. What a thrill to do Christmas shopping, to have money to buy whatever presents I wanted to give those I loved. How exciting to walk in the crowds past gaily decorated shops and know that I could enter them without shame. I no longer had to look longingly in windows, dreaming of possessions I could never afford; now I could afford so many things.

  Week by week I was growing richer. Tony was depositing money in a checking account that he'd opened for me. And he gave me a very generous allowance. I lived thriftily and put away what I could in a savings account that drew interest. On rare occasions Jillian would hand me twenty-dollar bills as if they were pennies. "Oh, don't be so damned grateful!" she yelled when I thanked her perhaps too enthusiastically, "It's only money!"

  The savings account was meant for that wonderful day when I had my family back together again; I spent very little on myself. When I shopped that year, I shopped for all of us, as if we were back together. A beautiful white cableknit sweater for Tom, along with a fine camera and dozens of rolls of film so he could have a friend take pictures of him that he could mail to me. It was easy to find the kind of heavy wool jacket he'd so longed for when we lived in the Willies, and trudging back and forth to school had been a real struggle when neither your feet or any other part of your body was warm. A coat just like the one Logan used to wear, genuine leather and fleecelined. I wanted to give him everything he'd ever wanted. I shopped for Fanny, though I didn't know where to send my gifts. I put them in the bottom dresser drawer along with all that I'd bought for Keith and Our Jane, promising myself I'd have the joy of seeing them open my gifts someday . . . someday.

  Troy and I met early Christmas morning in his cottage, long before Jillian and Tony were up. He had his breakfast all ready, the tree we had trimmed together, and the gifts we had for each other stacked beneath. "Come in, Merry Christmas! Don't you look lovely with roses in your cheeks. I was so afraid you'd be late. I've made us the most delicious Swedish Christmas bread."

  Later, we opened our gifts like two young children. Troy gave me a blue cashmere sweater that matched my eyes perfectly. I gave him a rich brown leather diary, tooled with gold. "What in the world is this? A diary for me to record my most ridiculous or remarkable words?"

  He was joking, I was dead serious. "I want you to write in it, beginning the first time you heard about Jillian from Tony. Everything they told you about my mother before they were married. How she felt about her father, about the divorce. Write about the first time you saw her, what she said to you, and what you said to her. Recall what she wore, your first impressions."

  His expression seemed strange as he nodded and accepted the book from me. "All right, I'll do my best. However, you have to keep remembering I was only three--are you listening, Heaven, only three. She was twelve."

  "Tony told me you were always older than your age when it came to intelligence, and younger than your age when it came to being left alone."

  I had other gifts for him that pleased him more. What he gave to me I cherished more than anything Jillian and Tony put under one of the huge Christmas trees placed before every front window in Farthinggale Manor.

  Jillian, Tony, and I went out to a fancy Christmas party at one of their friends' houses. It was the first time they'd ever taken me anywhere with them, but somehow that wasn't enough to keep me from feeling miserably lonely that day, and the rest of the week until New Year's and the week after when I returned to school again. Tony went off to work every day, and almost every night he and Jillian went out together. Jillian was scarcely to be seen during the day; and when, on occasion, I'd see her in the music room playing solitaire, she no longer invited me to share a card game with her. Ever since Tony had publicly announced on Thanksgiving that I was to be a permanent resident at Farthy, Jillian had retreated from me totally. To her I was a resident, not a member of the family.

  Jillian seemed pleased that I kept so busy I had little time to share her lifestyle, which included one social or charity affair after another. And all the togetherness I had believed once she and I would share faded with the realization we would never be close. She was not going to love me, or let herself grow attached so she might miss me later on. Oh, I knew her now, only too well.

  I sneaked over to visit Troy as often as I could--which wasn't that often, since I had the feeling that even though I didn't see her, Jillian was quite aware of exactly where I was. I also went into Boston frequently to go to the library and to the museums. A few times I went by The Red Feather and B.U. hoping to "accidentally" run into Logan, but I didn't once see him. Perhaps he'd returned to Winnerrow for the holidays. And that's when the tears would start to come. For Logan hadn't even sent me a Christmas card, neither had anyone in my family. Sometimes I felt that Farthinggale Manor was as impoverished as the Willies--only in a different way. For here there was a dearth of love, and caring, and sharing, and joy. Even in our rickety cabin we'd known those things. Here all that was given was money, and, much as I longed for it, I was beginning to crave love and affection even more.

  February arrived with my eighteenth birthday, which Tony and Jillian still believed was my seventeenth. Tony arranged everything for that birthday party given in my honor. "Invite all those snobby Winterhaven girls and we'll knock their eyes out." And, finally, all the Winterhaven girls had thei
r chance to gawk at the splendors of Farthinggale Manor. The lavish food spread on a table took my breath away. The gifts given to me that year left me even more breathless, and feeling strangely guilty. For how was the rest of my family faring?

  The success of that party impressed those silly girls so much, I was finally accepted as good enough to be treated decently.

  In early March such a terrible storm blew in I was trapped at home the Monday I was due to be driven back to Winterhaven. Tony and Jillian were, out of town, giving me the perfect opportunity to use the underground tunnel that connected Farthinggale Manor to Troy's cottage. Breathlessly I arrived, having run all the scary, dim way, making a great bit of noise as I climbed his cellar stairs, just to tell him I was coming up. Busy, as always, still he seemed to be expecting my visit, lifting his head from his work to smile my way, "Glad you're here. You can keep an eye on the bread in the oven until I finish what I've started."

  Later, he and I settled down before a log fire, and I handed him one of his own books of poems. "Please read them to me." He didn't want to, and tried to put the book away, but I kept insisting. Relenting, he read. I heard the emotions in his voice, heard the sadness, and I wanted to cry. I didn't know much about poetry, but he did string words together in unique and beautiful ways. I told him this.

  "That's the trouble with all my poems," he responded with unfamiliar impatience. He tossed the slender volume away. "Everything I write is too sweet and too pretty . . ."

  "Not sweet," I objected, jumping up to retrieve the book. "But I don't understand what you're trying to say. I feel an undercurrent of something morbid and dark in all your words, though you put them together beautifully. If you won't tell me what your poems mean, let me have this book to read over and over again until I understand your meaning."

  "It would be smarter if you didn't try to understand." His dark eyes for a second seemed tormented. Then they brightened. "It's wonderful to have you here, Heaven. I admit I hide my loneliness in work. Now I can hardly wait for you to show up." And because we were sitting side by side, very close, on impulse my head rested against his shoulder, even as my face turned, my lips more than ready for his first kiss. His pupils enlarged as I waited and waited, growing tense when he took so long. Then, sharply, he drew away, leaving me bewildered.

  Feeling rejected, soon I made some flimsy excuse about having to do my homework. Here I was losing again! I could do nothing right to please any man enough! Angry with him, even angrier with myself, I returned to Farthy to swim in the warm water of the indoor pool. Back and forth across the long pool twenty times, and still I couldn't swim my anger away. I dressed, and while my hair was still wet I read before a huge hearth with a blazing fire made just for me. Prone on the floor I stared at the open, leather-bound volume, filled with random

  unhappiness that wouldn't allow me to concentrate on the written words.

  All about me dead ancestors of the Tattertons fixed watchful eyes on my every movement. I thought I heard their painted lips whispering that I didn't belong here, and why didn't I leave and not sully their reputations with my Casteel heritage! It was silly, I knew that, and yet the library, with its rich leather chairs, seemed hostile. And the first thing I knew, I was getting up from the floor and heading toward the stairs and the cozy familiarity of my own rooms.

  Halfway down the hall in my wing I faintly heard my phone ringing. My heartbeats quickened. No one ever called me. Maybe it was Troy! Logan! Maybe . . .

  Slamming the door behind me, I ran to answer before the rings stopped.

  "Heaven, is it ya? Really ya?" asked a twangy country voice I knew only too well. Relief and happiness like warm wine flooded through me. "It's me, Heaven, yer sista Fanny! An ya know what, I'm a motha! Had my baby jus' two hours ago! It came early, bout three weeks, an I neva thought anythin' so normal could hurt so blessed much! I yelled an screamed an t'nurses tried t'hold me down, an Mrs. Wise ordered me t'be quiet or t'whole world would hear me yellin . . . but that were an easy thin' fer her t'say when it was me who was havin her baby. ."

  "Oh, Fanny, thank God you called! I've been so worried about you! Why didn't you call before?"

  "Why I done called ya a hundred times, I have, an nobody there understands what I say. Or who I want t'talk ta. What's wrong with 'em? They talk funny, like ya do now. Did ya hear me say I had a baby girl?"

  What was that catch I heard in her voice? Regrets? Sorry now she'd schemed with the Reverend and his wife to have a baby for ten thousand dollars? "Fanny, tell me, are you all right? Where are you?"

  "Sure I'm fine, jus' fine. Weren't nothin t'it once it were ova. An she's so t'prettiest lii ole girl with black hair that's curly an everythin'. Got two of what she should have, an none of what she shouldn't. An t'Reverend is sure gonna be so happy when he sees her . . ."

  "Fanny, where are you? Please tell me! It's not too late to change your mind. You can refuse to accept the money and then you can keep your baby, and when you're older you'll never have regrets for selling your own child. Now please listen to me! I can send you the money you need to fly to Boston. My grandfather won't take you in, but I could put you up in a nice rooming house, and do what I can to support you and your baby." I was endangering my own precarious situation, but I did it on pure instinct, alarmingly homesick to see Fanny again.

  For a moment or so her deep silence on the other end made me think she was giving my alternative serious thought, and then came her decision. "Tom done tole me bout where ya'll live. An iffen yer gonna invite me an my baby t'come an t'stay, ya gotta invite me t'where ya live in a house big as a palace! Wid more bathrooms than ya kin count! Don't ya go insultin' me an my baby with no roornin' house, or motel room! Not when I'm jus' as good as ya are . . ."

  "Fanny, be reasonable. I wrote and told Tom that my grandparents have eccentric ideas. Why, Jillian doesn't even want anyone to know that I am her granddaughter!"

  "She mus' be crazy!" came Fanny's loud and instant decision. "Nobody so ole kin look so young as ya tole Tom . . . now ya go on an invite me, Heaven! Crazy people like her won't know no difference! Iffen ya don't, I'm sellin' my baby an takin' off fer Nashville or New York City!"

  At that moment I heard the deep, sonorous rumble of the Reverend Wayland Wise's voice as he came into the hospital room and greeted Fanny. And so help me God, Fanny slammed the receiver down and didn't even say goodbye!

  I was left with the dial tone, realizing she hadn't given me her address. Still she had mine, and my phone number.

  Fanny, oh Fanny. She was doing the same thing Pa had done--selling her own child. Oh, how could she do it! Even though Fanny was capable of being a selfish and heartless girl, I knew she'd regret selling her little baby. I just knew it. And I also knew that I could help her. I had money now, and I could find a way to support her and the baby, to buy it back from the Wises. But I couldn't invite Fanny here to live. If I did, I'd be tossed out myself, and I would lose all I had gained. For I'd learned that I had been accepted at Radcliffe, and Tony had already promised that I could count on him to put me through school, and I could stay at Farthinggale Manor or live on campus, whichever I prefered. Could I give all that up for Fanny? No, I couldn't. For Fanny was a confused girl, I rationalized, and it would take her a while to realize what she was doing was wrong. When she did, she would come to me for help. I knew that as surely as I knew it was snowing. And with a certain amount of relief to know that Fanny had come through her first delivery safely, and that someday she would come to me and I would help her to get her child back, I read until it was time to go to bed.

  Sleep was a hard-won prize this night. I was an aunt! I wished I dared to call Tom this second, and tell him Fanny's news. But Pa might be the one to pick up the telephone.

  The very next day I telephoned Tom, risking the chance my father would answer. "Hi," said my brother's voice, making me sigh with relief. "Oh, good golly gosh-jeebers!" he cried when he heard my news. "It's great news to know Fanny is all right, and terrible to
think she's really going to sell her very own baby! It's like history repeating itself. But you can't risk your future for her, Heavenly, you just can't! You keep your mouth shut about Fanny and the rest of us. We'll see you again, all of us, even Keith and Our Jane, now that you have set those lawyers on their trail."

  In late March the blustery cold winter began to abate. The snow melted and hints of spring made me nostalgic for the Willies.

  Tom wrote to tell me to forget the hills, and the way it used to be. "Forgive Pa, Heavenly, please do. He's different now, like another man. And his wife has given him the look-alike, dark-haired son that Ma wanted, and didn't get."

  In April, for the first time, I could open a window and listen to the sound of the pounding surf without feeling nervous.

  Logan had not even made an effort to contact me, and day by day he was turning into only a memory, and it hurt, really hurt when I stopped to give his indifference more than a skipping thought. I had no desire to find a new boyfriend, and I declined most of the dates offered me. Once in a while I'd go out to the movies or out to dinner with a boy, but inevitably, as soon as he learned that he couldn't get past "first base," he gave up on me. I just didn't want to set myself up to be hurt again. Later, later, I would worry about love and romance; now I was content to concentrate on my educational goals.

  The one man I did see a lot of, and the one man who was replacing Logan in my heart, was the one man I was supposed to stay away from--Troy Tatterton. At least once a week, when Tony and Jillian were out, I'd sneak over and spend hours talking to him. It was such a joy to have someone to talk to, someone who really cared about me and knew the truth of who I was.

  I wanted in the worst way to talk to Tony about Troy, but it was a dangerous topic that brought immediate suspicion to Tony's eyes.

  "I hope to God you are heeding my warning and staying away from my brother. He'll never make any woman happy."