Dark Angel

by V. C. Andrews

  But he didn't. "May I tell Tom who is calling?" Well, listen to that! Someone was teaching Pa good grammar and proper manners. I swallowed and almost gagged. "A friend."

  "Hold on, please," he said, as if he did this a hundred times a day for Tom. I heard him lay down the receiver, heard his steps on a hard surface, and then his voice roared in characteristic hillbilly fashion: "Tom, you've got another of those anonymous girlfriends of yours on the phone. I wish you'd tell them to stop calling. Now don't talk longer than five minutes. We've got to get the show on the road."

  The thud of Tom's running feet came clearly across the many miles that separated us. "Hi!" he breathlessly greeted.

  I was taken aback at how much his voice had changed; he sounded very much like Pa. I found it difficult to speak, and while I hesitated, Tom must have grown impatient. "Whoever you are, speak up, for I don't have but a minute to spare."

  "It's me, Heaven ... please don't speak my name and let Pa know who it is."

  Surprised, he sucked his breath in. "Hey, this is great! Terrific! Gosh, I'm so glad to hear from you. Pa's gone out in the yard to be with Stacie and the baby, so I don't have to whisper."

  I didn't know what to say.

  Tom filled the awkward space: "Heavenly, he's the cutest lil ole kid. He's got black hair, dark brown eyes, you know, just the kind of son Mom wanted to give Pa . ." He stopped talking abruptly, and I just knew he'd started to add, "He's the spitting image of Pa." Instead he said, "Why aren't you saying anything?"

  "How nice that Pa always gets what he wants," I commented bitterly. "Some people are lucky that way."

  "C'mon, Heavenly, stop that! Be fair. The kid isn't guilty of any crime. He's damned cute, and even you would have to admit that."

  "What did Pa name his third son?" I asked out of pure, spiteful vindictiveness.

  "Hey! I hate your cold tone of voice. Why can't you let the past die in peace, like I have? Pa and Stacie let me name the baby. Remember a long time ago who used to be our favorite explorers? Walter Raleigh and Frances Drake? Well, we got us Walter Drake. We call him Drake."

  "I remember," I said, ice in my voice. "I think it's a terrific name. Drake Casteel?"

  More merchandise for Pa to sell was my mean thought before I abruptly changed the subject. "Tom, I'm in Atlanta. I'm planning on renting a car and driving to your place, and I don't want to run into Pa."

  "That's wonderful, Heavenly, just wonderful!" he enthusiastically cried.

  "I don't want to see Pa when I come. Can you arrange to have him out of the house?"

  Pain came into Tom's voice as he promised to do what he could to keep Pa and me from meeting. Then he gave me detailed directions on how to reach the small town where he lived, about twenty miles from where a commuter plane would let me off in south Georgia.

  Tom! Pa roared from a distance. I said five minutes, not ten!"

  "I've gotta go now," Tom said urgently. "I'm mighty happy yer comin, but I'm gonna say this right now, ya made a big mistake when ya shoved Logan out of yer life, an let that Troy guy in! He's not yer kind. That Troy Tatterton ya've written to me about will never understand ya like Logan does, or love ya even half as much."

  His country dialect had come back, as it always did when he grew passionate. Quickly I corrected him. It hadn't been I who shoved Logan away, it had been Logan who had changed his mind.

  "Goodbye, Heavenly . . . see you tomorrow morning about eleven." He hung up without further ado.

  I stayed that night in Atlanta and early the next morning rented a car and drove south, rethinking all of Tom's letters that should have warned me. "I thought nothing would ever come between you and Logan. It's living in that rich house, I know it is. It's changing you, Heavenly! Why you don't even write or talk like yourself!"

  "You're not Fanny," he'd written once. "Girls like you fall in love just once, and don't ever change their minds."

  What did he think I was, anyway? An angel? A saint without flaws? I wasn't an angel or a saint; I had the wrong shade of hair. I was a dark angel, through and through a no-good, scumbag Casteel! Pa's daughter! He'd made me what I was. Whatever I was.

  I had talked to Troy only last night, and he'd told me to settle all my family affairs quickly, and hurry back to him.

  "And if you can persuade Tom to come to our wedding, despite what Tony said, you won't feel that all the guests are on my side. And perhaps Fanny will come as well."

  Oh, Troy didn't know what he was asking for when he invited my sister Fanny! I had all kinds of weird thoughts as I drove in the early morning toward a small town I'd marked with a red circle on a local map. I stared at the red dirt along the roadside, allowing it to take me back to my time spent with Kitty and Cal Dennison. For the first time since I'd flown from West Virginia, my thoughts lingered on memories of Cal, and what had happened to him. Was he still living in Candlewick? Had he sold the home that had belonged to Kitty? Was he married again? Surely he'd done the right thing when he put me on the plane for Boston, allowing me to think that Kitty would live despite her massive tumor.

  I shook my head, not wanting to think of Cal when I had to concentrate on my meeting with Tom. Somehow I had to persuade him to leave Pa and continue his education. Troy would pay his tuition fees, buy his clothes, and whatever else he needed. And even as I thought this, I had to block out Tom's stubborn pride, the same kind that I had.

  Then suddenly I was lost on back country roads. I pulled into a run-down station with two gas tanks and asked the red-faced, skinny little man there for directions. He stared at me as if he thought me crazy to be so dressed up on a sizzling hot day like this. I wore a lightweight summer suit, and I was hot, you bet, but I wasn't going to show up in just an ordinary summer dress. My hands wore too many rings, and my neck was heavy from too many necklaces. I was going to impress somebody, even if they thought me foolish. My car was the most expensive one I could rent.

  I had to back up and turn around to find the right road that would take me to Tom and the house where Pa lived with his new family. A bit of Florida had stolen into Georgia and given the landscape a semitropical look. As I drew closer to my destination, I pulled my car to the side of the road to freshen my makeup, and ten minutes later my long, dark blue Lincoln slowed to a halt in front of a low and sprawling contemporary ranch house.

  A numb kind of sensation in ray chest made me feel unreal, to have come all these miles and put myself within the reach of Pa's cruelty again. What kind of fool was I, anyway? I shook my head, glanced again in the rearview mirror to check my appearance, and then I looked again at the modern house. It was constructed of red cedar shingles. The shallow roof overhung the many wide windows to create shade. Many trees shaded the roof, and well-trimmed shrubs outlined the house, while flower beds curved outward from the shrubs to create colorful areas where not a weed grew. Oh, surely Pa was proving something to the world with this house that had to have four to five bedrooms. And not one time had Tom even hinted at just what Pa did to earn enough money to pay for such a house.

  Where was Tom? Why wasn't he coming out of the door to greet me? Finally, growing impatient, I left the car and stepped along the walkway leading to the recessed door. I feared that Pa himself might be the very one who responded to my knock, despite Tom's pledge to keep us apart. But I was all right. My designer suit that had cost more than a thousand dollars was as good as a suit of armor. My costly rings and necklaces and earrings were my shield and my sword. I could slay dragons dressed as I was. Or so I thought.

  Impatiently I jabbed at the door bell. Inside I heard chimes play a few notes. My heart thudded nervously. Butterflies beat small wings of panic in my stomach. Then I heard footfalls approaching. I had Tom's name on my lips when the door opened.

  However, it was not Tom, as I'd hoped and prayed it would be; nor was it the dreaded appearance of Pa. Instead, a very pretty young woman with blond hair and bright blue eyes swung open the door and smiled at me as if she'd never known fear of strangers or d
islike of anyone.

  She took my breath away with her air of fresh innocence as she stood behind the screen door, the cool rooms dim and shadowy and clean-smelling in the background, smiling and waiting for me to identify myself. She wore white shorts with a blue knit top, and carried easily in one arm was a young child who appeared sleepy. Oh, that had to be Drake, Pa's lookalike son . . his third son.

  "Yes . . ?" she prompted when I failed to speak.

  I stood there nonplused, staring at a woman and little boy whose lives I could easily destroy if I wanted.

  And now that I was here, I knew from my very shock, that in a way I had not come just to save Tom; I had an ulterior motive, to ruin what happiness Pa had found. All that I could have shouted out to make her hate Pa stuck like a lump in my throat so I had difficulty even murmuring my name.

  "Heaven?" she asked, looking delighted. "You are Heaven?" Her welcoming smile broadened. "You are the Heavenly that Tom is always talking about? Oh, how wonderful to finally meet you. Come in, come in!" She pulled open the screen door, then put the little boy down on the couch and self-consciously tugged down her blue top. Her eyes darted to the nearest wall mirror to check her appearance, making me realize that perhaps Tom had not told her I was due at eleven o'clock. I had not thought of this woman at all when I made my plans.

  "Unfortunately an emergency arose, so Tom had to leave with his father," she explained

  breathlessly, now checking to see that her house was in order. She led the way from the front foyer into a large, handsome living room. "I noticed this morning that several times Tom seemed on the verge of confiding something to me, and yet his father kept urging him to hurry, so he didn't have the time. I'm sure your visit must have been his secret."

  While she talked, she tidied a stack of decorating magazines, and quickly folded the morning newspaper that she must have been reading. "Please sit down and make yourself at home, Heaven. Is there anything I can get you? I'll be preparing lunch soon for Drake and myself, and of course you must stay. But can I get you something cold now? It's such a hot day."

  "A cola drink would be very nice," I admitted, my throat parched from anxiety as much as from thirst. I couldn't believe Tom hadn't waited for me. Wasn't I important to him anymore either? It seemed none of my family wanted to see me as much as I wanted to see them. Soon she was back from the kitchen with two glasses. The shy little boy, about a year old, stared at me with huge brown eyes fringed by long black lashes. Oh, yes, he was the look-alike son that Sarah had prayed to have when her fifth child had been deformed and stillborn.

  Poor Sarah. Not for the first time I wondered just where Sarah was now, and what she was doing.

  I slipped out of my too-warm jacket, feeling ridiculous now as I wished I'd had better sense than to be so ostentatious.

  Stacie Casteel gave me one of the sweetest smiles I'd ever seen. "You are so beautiful, Heaven, exactly as Tom described you many, many times. You are lucky to have a brother who admires you so much. I always wanted brothers and sisters myself, but my parents thought one child was enough. They live about two blocks from here, so I see them often, and they make wonderful baby-sitters. In fact your grandfather is out now with my father, fishing in a nearby lake."

  Grandpa. I had forgotten all about Grandpa.

  She went on, as if starved for someone to talk to about her family. "Luke would like for us to move to Florida, so he could be closer to where he works, but I can't bring myself to move that far from my parents. I know they won't make any changes in their lifestyles now that they're so old and contented. They are so devoted to Drake."

  She was seated now across from me, allowing her small, very handsome son a sip or two of her cold drink. He could hardly manage to swallow he was so intimidated by my silent presence. Gently she shoved him forward a bit. "Drake dear, this is your half-sister named Heaven. Isn't that an appropriate name for such a lovely young lady?"

  The huge dark eyes of Pa's youngest son batted as he tried to decide if I was friendly or not, before he ducked his head and turned to try and hide himself. When he felt safe, he peeked at me from his close position near his mother's legs with his thumb stuck in his mouth. And oh, it did hurt to be reminded so much of how Keith used to act, only in the old days it had been my legs Keith had hidden behind, or beside, never Sarah's. Sarah had always been too busy and too tired to "mess with" shy children who needed special attention--until Our Jane came along.

  Despite the decision I'd made not to love this particular child, I found myself kneeling so I could be on eye level with him. I found a smile. "Hi Drake. Your uncle Tom told me about you. He told me you like trains and boats and airplanes. And someday very soon I am going to send you a whole huge carton of trains, boats, and airplanes." I glanced at Stacie with some embarrassment. "The Tattertons have been toy makers for centuries. They make toys such as can't be found in ordinary toy stores, and when I go back, I'll ship Drake all he can play with."

  "That would be very nice of you," she said with another of her devastating, sweet smiles that stabbed right into my heart, for I could have sent Drake many a plaything a long time ago, and not once had I thought of doing so.

  As the minutes passed and she chatted on while preparing lunch, I soon found out that she loved the man I hated, loved him very much. "He is the kindest, most wonderful husband," she enthused, "always trying his very best to see that his family has everything we need." She threw me an appealing glance. "I realize, Heaven, that you might not see him that way, but your father has had a very difficult life, and to find himself, he had to get away from those hills and the Casteel heritage. He is not a slothful, lazy man. He was just a resentful one for finding himself trapped in what seemed a relentless circle of poverty."

  Nothing she said indicated that she knew how much Pa had hated me, and probably still did. She didn't mention my mother or Sarah, and because she didn't I began to think of her as just another guileless and gullible Leigh Tatterton, so then it flashed through my mind that my father had a predilection for loving the same type of delicate female. Just as he favored redheads, like Sarah and Kitty, for occasional rough romps in the sack.

  And if he had from time to time taken brunettes to bed, I'd yet to hear about them.

  We returned to the living room after our lunch of tuna salad on a crisp bed of lettuce, with cubes of cheese, and hot rolls served with iced tea. Our dessert was chocolate pudding that Drake managed to smear all over his beautiful face.

  No biscuits and gravy, I thought bitterly.

  My bitterness soured more when we returned to the bright cheerful living room. I looked at the wide windows that looked onto a back garden full of flowers in full bloom, and I tried my best to picture Luke Casteel living in this kind of nice, modern house, sitting on that long, pretty sofa behind a coffee table free of dust and fingerprints. Green plants relieved the monotony of all the browns, tans, and creamy colors accented with touches of turquoise. A very masculine room, with only the sewing basket to hint that someone besides a man and a child lived here.

  "This is your father's favorite room," she said, as if she noticed how preoccupied I was with my thoughts. Pride was in her voice. "Luke told me I could decorate it as I wanted, but I wanted a room where he would feel free to put his feet up, and a sofa where he could lie and not worry about rumpled cushions. Tom and your grandfather enjoy this room as well." It seemed she would say something else, for she flushed and looked guiltily confused for a second or so before she lightly touched my arm and smiled warmly. "It is truly wonderful to have you under our roof at last, Heaven. Luke doesn't talk much about his 'mountain home family,' for he says it hurts too much."

  Oh, yes, I could imagine just how much it hurt! "Did he tell you about my mother, who was only fourteen when he married her?"

  "Yes, he told me how they met in Atlanta, and he said he loved- her very much. But no," she elaborated with wistfulness, "he never really talks about her so I can picture their life together in that mountain shack.
I know that her premature death scarred him in a way he will never recover from. I also know he married me because I remind him of her, and when I kneel to say my prayers at night I pray that someday he will stop thinking of her. I know he loves me, and I've made him happier than he was when first we met, but until you can forgive him, and he learns to accept your mother's untimely death, he can't fully enjoy his life, and the moderate success he's found for himself."

  "Did he tell you what he did?" I almost shouted. "Do you think he was right to sell his five children for five hundred dollars apiece?"

  "No, of course I don't think it was right," she answered calmly, taking the winds from the sail of my attack. "He told me about what he did. It was a terrible decision he had to make. You five could have starved while he recovered his health. I can only justify his actions by saying he did what he thought best at the time, and none of you have suffered permanent damage, have you, have you?"

  Her question hung in the air as she sat with her head bowed, quietly waiting for me to say I forgave Pa. Did she believe that the worst he'd done to us had been his Christmas betrayal? No, that had been only the climax! And I could not speak up and say anything to redeem his cruelty. The hope that had flared briefly on her face faded. Her eyes dropped to her son, and deeper sadness came over her face. "It's all right if you can't forgive him today. I just hope you will be able to one day in the near future. Think about it, Heaven. Life doesn't give us many chances to forgive. The opportunity comes, flits by, time passes, and it's too late."

  I jumped to my feet. "I thought Tom would be here to meet me. Where can I find him?"

  "Tom pleaded with me to hold you here until he returns about four-thirty. Your father won't be home until much later."

  "I don't have time to wait until four-thirty." I was afraid to stay. Afraid she'd win me over to forgiving a man I hated. "When I leave here I'm flying to Nashville to see my sister Fanny. So please, tell me where to find Tom."