Casteel 1 - Heaven (14 page)

“Oh, it's all right,” laughed Tom with twinkling eyes. “This pie we just finished off was made by your boyfriend's mother, an ya jus know Logan would give up anything to make his Heaven's family happy.”

“Who's Logan?” mumbled Grandpa, while the taste of the pie still warmed my mouth and thrilled my taste buds.

“Yeah,” growled a familiar deep voice from the doorway, “who's Logan? And where the hell is my wife? Why is this place such a pigsty?”

Pa!

He strode in, carrying over his shoulder a huge burlap bag with bulky things inside that had to be food supplies, and he hurled all that he'd brought onto

the tabletop. “Where t'hell is Sarah?” he yelled again, glaring

at each of us in turn. Not one of us could find words to tell him. Pa

stood tall and lean, his bronze face clean-​shaven and paler than usual, as if he'd undergone a great ordeal, and had lost at least ten pounds, and yet he looked fresher, cleaner, and, in a way, healthier than when I'd seen him last. He appeared a dark-​haired giant, reeking of whiskey and that strange, overpowering scent that was strictly male. I shivered to know he was back; at the same time, I was overcome with relief. As mean as he was, he'd save us from starvation, now that real winter was upon us, and every day snow would be falling, and the wind would be whistling around our frail cabin, finding all kinds of ways to get in and chill our bones.

“Ain't nobody here who knows how t'talk?” he asked sarcastically. “Thought I sent my kids to school. Don't they learn nothin? Not even how to greet their own pa, and say they're glad to see him home again?”

“We're glad,” said Tom, while I got up and turned again to the stove, ready to do my best to cook another meal, now that we had plenty, from the looks of that bag. And I was, in my own way, trying to hurt

Pa as he so often hurt me with his indifference. “Where's my wife?” he bellowed again.

“SARAH!” he shouted. “I'm back!” His yell could have been heard down in the valley . . . but it didn't bring Sarah.

He checked the bedroom, standing with his hands holding the curtains spread apart, his legs wide, as he looked in and didn't understand. “In the outhouse?” he asked, turning again to Tom. “Where is Ma?”

“I'll be only too happy to tell you,” I spoke up when Tom floundered.

He flashed his dark eyes my way. “I asked Tom. Answer me, boywhere the hell is your mother?”

As if I'd been born for this moment, this chance to sting his prideI was ready to pounce. I could tell from his expression he thought now Sarah might possibly be deadas Granny had died when he was absentand for a moment I hesitated before I went on, speaking harshly.

“Your wife's left you, Pa,” I said, glaring at him. "She couldn't stand more grief and suffering after her baby was stillborn. Couldn't take this cabin and never having enough, with a husband who had to have

his fun, while she had none. So she's gone, and she left you a note."

“I DON'T BELIEVE YOU!” he roared.

No one said anything, just stared at him, even Fanny.

Then it was Grandpa who found the strength to rise from his rocker and face his son. “Ya ain't got no wife now, son.”

His voice seemed full of pity for this son who'd lost twice, and would no doubt lose all of his life, and it wouldn't be anybody's fault but his own. That was my mean thought on the night that Pa showed up after being gone almost a month.

“Yer Sarah packed up her thins an left in t'night,” Grandpa concluded with great difficulty, for easy words had long ago departed.

“Somebody fetch her note,” Pa whispered, as if he'd lost his strength now, and was suddenly as old as Grandpa.

Silently, with vicious pleasure, I stepped toward the highest shelf, where we placed our valuables that were so few, and from a chipped sugar bowl Granny had once told me Pa had bought new for his angel I took out the brief note, folded four times into a tiny hard wad.

“Read it t'me,” ordered Pa, gone numb and strange-​looking.

"Dear husband [I read],

"Can't stay no longer with a man who just don't care enough about anything. Going where it's better. Good luck and good-​bye.

“Much as I loved ya, hate ya now. Sarah” “And that's all, ALL?” bellowed Pa, snatching

the note from my hand and trying to read the scratchy, childish handwriting. “She runs off and leaves me with five kids, and she wishes me good luck?” He balled up her note and hurled it into the open door of the stove. His long fingers raked through his dark mane of hair. “Goddam her to hell!” he said dully, before he jumped up and bellowed, shaking his fist at the cabin ceiling. “When I find her I'm gonna wring her damned neck, or cut out her heartif I can find it. To go when there's no woman here, to leave little children on their owndamn you, Sarah, I expected better, I did”

In a flash he was out the door, leaving me to think he was going this very minute to hunt up Sarah and kill her, but in a minute or two he was back, hurling down on our table more supplies. He brought

in two sacks of flour, salt, slab bacon, beans, dried peas, a huge tin of lard, bundles of tied spinach, apples, potatoes, orange yams, bags of rice, and lots more we'd never had before, such as boxes of crackers and cookies, and peanut butter and grape jelly.

Our tabletop was covered, seeming enough to last a year. And when he had it all spread out, he turned to all of us and spoke to no one in particular.

“I'm sorry your granny is dead. Sorrier your ma ran out on me, and that means all of you as well. I'm sure she's sorry to hurt you just to get to me.” He paused before he continued.

“I'm going this day and not coming back until I'm cured of what I've got. I'm almost well, and would like t'stay an take care of ya, but stayin would do more harm t'ya then my leavin. An I've got a job that suits my condition. So you go easy on this food, fer there won't be more coming from me until I get back.”

Aghast, I wanted to cry out and tell him not to leave, that we just couldn't survive the rest of this bitterly cold winter without him.

“Don't none of ya have any idea where she went?” “Oh, Pa!” cried Fanny, trying to run into his anus, but he held up his hand to stay her.

“Don't touch me,” he warned. "Don't

understand much what I got, but it's a nasty thin t'have. See how I had a man put everything in sacks? Burn all the sacks when I'm gone. I've got a friend who will try and find Sarah, and make her come back. Hold on till she does, or I do . . . hold on."

As bad as he was, as evil and cruel as he could sometimes be, still he'd work long enough selling somebody's moonshine to buy us basic food supplies, a few treats, and enough clothes to keep us covered, if not well, at least warmly.

For I was staring at the used clothes that Fanny was pawing through and squealing over. Sweaters and skirts, blue jeans for Tom and Keith, and underwear for all of us, and five pairs of shoes, though he'd had to guess at our shoe sizes. Tears welled up in my eyes. No coats or boots or hats, and we needed those things.

Still, I was grateful to see the heavy ugly sweaters, gone nubby from others' wearing them.

“Pa!” yelled Tom, running after him. “Ya can't leave us all alone! I'm doing what I can to help, but it ain't easy when nobody in Winnerrow trusts a Casteel, an already Heavenly can't go to schooland I've gotta go, Pa! Gotta go or stop breathing! Pa! Are ya listenin? Hearin me?”

Pa strode on, closing his ears to the pitiful

words of a son I knew he loved. And the wails of Fanny crying surely must have followed him for many days. But a daughter named Heaven didn't plead or cry, or say a word. I just felt the cold, clammy hand of fate squeezing the blood out of my heart. Alone, just as in my nightmares.

Alone in the cabin. Without parents, without any way to support ourselves.

Alone when the wind blew, when the snow fell, when the trails to the valley disappeared beneath ice and snow.

We didn't have snowshoes, coats, skis, none of the things that would take us swiftly to the valley, to school, or to church. And that pile of food, as high as it looked now, would disappear soon enough. What then?

Pa stood near his truck, staring at us in turn, at all but me. It hurt that even now he couldn't bring himself to meet my eyes.

“Take care,” he said, and disappeared in the dark. We heard the roar of his old truck as it took off and sped down the dark trails to wherever it was that he went.

As Sarah would have done, I did, too. I set about putting things away, not a tear in my eye, my

lips set in a thin grim line as I faced up to the responsibilities of running this cabin until Pa came home again.

Squalor And

Splendor . FOR A BRIEF AND WONDERFUL

MOMENT BEFORE PA stalked out into the night, leaving us alone again, hope had lit up all our hearts, lifted us high only to plunge us into even deeper despair once he was gone, and we were, again, left alone.

Snagged in our nightmare, we stood in a tight group and listened to the lonely night sounds when we could no longer hear his truck driving away. We had food on the table to show he'd cared a little, if not enough. I damned him for not staying, damned him for a thousand reasons.

I stared at the table covered with what he'd brought, and though it seemed a great dealwould it last until he came back again?

Out into our primitive wooden box on the porch that served us well enough as a refrigerator during the winters we put what meat we wouldn't use today. In some ways it was a blessing this was winter and not summer when we'd have to gobble down everything before it spoiled in the heat. When Granny was alive,

with Sarah and Pa, there had been nine of us, and there was never enough left to spoil.

I didn't realize until later that Pa had come on Thanksgiving Day to bring us our Thanksgiving Day dinner.

Hunger dictated our menus. Only too soon all that Pa had brought to last until he came again dwindled down to nothing but beans, peas, and the eternal staple of our lives, biscuits and gravy.

The howling wind added nothing to our happiness, nor did the cold that kept us all huddled around Ole Smokey. Hours and hours Tom and I spent in the yard chopping wood, felling small trees, and searching to find dead branches broken off during windstorms.

Life in the cabin flipped backward into that same familiar nightmare that even the brightest morning light couldn't dispel. I stopped hearing the early-​morning birdsongs (those few brave birds that dared to stay), stopped watching the glory of winter sunsets. No time to linger out of doors when we might catch our deaths, and there'd be no one wise enough to make us well again. No time to linger near a window where it was drafty. Only too much time to crowd near the fire and think bitter thoughts.

Up at dawn every morning, I continued the daily struggle to do all the things that Sarah had once done. Not until this stepmother was gone did I realize how much I'd been spared, even when she was her laziest. Tom tried, really tried to help, but I kept insisting that he continue with his schooling, though Fanny was only too happy to stay home.

Trouble was, Fanny stayed home not to help out with the work but to steal out and meet with the kind of boys who'd never go anywhere in this world but to jail, or to early gravesthe ones who incessantly played hooky, were already hooked on booze, pool, gambling and girls.

“Don't need no education,” Fanny flared scornfully, “already got enough!” A zillion times she said that as she admired herself in that silver mirror that had been my mother's; unfortunately, Fanny had immediately seized it from my hand when foolishly I took it out of its hiding place, and she tried to claim it for her own. It was tarnished, and she didn't recognize it as valuable. Rather than battle her for it then and there, and allow biscuits to burn in the oven, I decided that later on, while she slept, I'd reclaim my mirror and hide it in a better place. At least she hadn't found the suitcase with the doll yet.

“Worst thin is, t'school's warmer than here. Heaven, why ya have t'have so much pride? Ya done stuck some of it on me, so onliest time I kin yell out t'truth is when yer near t'say it's a lie, or I'd go yellin out t'everybody we're hongry! Cold! Miserable an dyin!”

Fanny cried real tears. “There's gonna come a day when I'm neva gonna be hongry or cold agin . . ya wait an see!” she sobbed brokenly. “Hate this place! All t'thins I have t'do t'keep from cryin all t'time. Hate cryin! Hate not havin what city girls do! . . . Heaven, let go yer pride so I kin let go of mine.”

I hadn't known she had any until this startling minute. “It's all right, Fanny,” I said softly; “go on and cry. I figure a good cry sets you free to have pride . . . and that will help us to be better people, stronger people. Granny always said that.”

The moon was riding high before Tom came home from school, the fierce wind blowing him in the door and slamming it behind him before he threw two squirrels on the table, tiny gray ones he quickly skinned while I hid Our Jane's eyes and Keith stared wide-​eyed and teary to see his “friends” stripped of their pretty fur. Soon I had the meat boiling to make a stew, adding the last of our carrots and potatoes. Keith

crouched in a corner and said he wasn't hungry. “You have to eat,” Tom said softly, going to

pick him up and carry him to the table. He plopped Keith down beside Our Jane on her cushion. “If you don't eat, then Our Jane won't eat, and she's already weak and too thin . . . so eat, Keith, show Our Jane you like Heavenly's stew.”

Day after day passed and Logan didn't come again, nor did Tom see him in the school hallways. Tom wasn't as old as Logan, so they weren't in the same classes.

Ten days after Logan's visit Tom told me, “Logan's gone away with his parents somewhere.” He had made a real effort to find out what had happened to Logan Stonewall. “His pa's got another pharmacist working in his store until they come home. Maybe somebody in the family died.”

I hoped not, yet I sighed in relief. My worst fear was that Logan would move away, forget about me, and even if he didn't, he'd stay so angry he'd never look my way again. Better to believe Logan was off on a vacation, or even attending a funeral or visiting a sick grandmother, than disappearing because he didn't like me anymore. Soon he'd be coming home again. Someday better than now he'd show up, we'd meet, I'd

say I was sorry, he'd smile, say he understood, and everything would be fine between us.

There was mending and sewing to do. Once Sarah had picked up fabric at sales, ugly, cheap stuff that nobody else wanted; by ripping apart old dresses and using them for patterns she'd fashioned wearable clothes, even if they weren't fitted properly and looked hideous. I didn't know how to make dresses for Our Jane or Fanny, much less for myself. Tom's shirts grew ragged, and there was no money to buy him new ones. I sewed on patches; sewed up rips with clumsy large stitches that soon pulled out. I pulled together split seams, tried to weave threads so they filled tiny holes. I took apart old dresses I'd outgrown and tried to put together a new dress for Our Jane, who could be made very happy by something new and pretty. It was freezing cold in the cabin, and as much as I hated to, I went to the magical suitcase, hunted through all the beautiful summer clothes, and pulled out a soft pink pullover sweater. It had three-​quarter sleeves, and still was much too big for Our Jane to wear as a dress. But the moment she spied it, she wanted that sweater in the worst way. “Now, hold on until I make it fit.”

And make it fit I did, by running thin elastic

through the neckline to draw up the shoulders. Now Our Jane had a full-​length pretty, warm pink sweater- dress.

“Where'd ya get that kind of fabric?” asked Fanny, coming in from the woods, immediately suspicious when she saw Our Jane skipping happily about in the cabin, showing off her new dress. “I neva saw that pink thin before . . . where'd ya get it, huh?”

“I found it blowing wild on the wind,” answered Tom, who had a terrific imagination for embroidering his own hunting tales. “There I was, lying flat on my belly, buried deep in t'snow, waitin fer a wild turkey t'poke up his head so we'd have a tasty Christmas meal. Had my beady dead eye on t'bush it was hidin behind, my rifle cocked an aimed, my eye slotted an sure, an here comes this pink thing flyin through t'air. Almost shot it dead, I did, but it landed on a bush, an durn if it weren't a sweater-​dress with Our Jane's name on the tag.”

“Yer lyin,” proclaimed Fanny. “Biggest, stupidest lie ya eva toldan ya done tole a million.”

“Ya otta know, havin told yer own ten zillion.” “Grandpa, Tom's callin me a liar! Make him stop!” “Stop, Tom,” Grandpa said dully. "Ya shouldn't

tease yer sista Fanny."

That's the way it went, Fanny and Tom fighting, Keith and Our Jane staying quiet, Grandpa whittling and staying off his feet which he constantly said were sore from corns, bunions, and other scaly things that I thought soap and water would cure. Grandpa didn't favor soap and water too much; even on Saturday night we had to force him to take a bath. Grandpa tried hard not to do anything but whittle.

Fanny used any excuse to keep from doing her share of the work even if she didn't go to school, so eventually I just gave up on Fanny and decided if being ignorant was her goal and her style, she was already college degreed. It was Tom who had to finish his education, and to that we were both dedicated.

“All right,” he said to me with a touching sad smile, “I'll go on, an really try to learn enough for two, so I can teach you when I'm home. But wouldn't it be better if I could tell Miss Deale, and then she could write assignments for you to complete wouldn't it be, Heavenly?”

“If you make sure she doesn't know we are alone up here, suffering, hungry, cold, miserable. We don't want her to know that, do we?”

“Would it be so awful? Maybe she could help . . .” he said tentatively, as if afraid I'd blow.

“Look, Tom, Miss Deale earns what Logan calls a pittance, and she'd spend it all on us, she's so generous. We can't let her do that. Besides, didn't she give all of us a lecture one day in class, saying poverty and hardships made for strong backbones and hearty characters? Boy, are we going to end up with iron spines and sturdy, unbreakable characters!”

He stared at me with great admiration. “Boy, you sure got character right now, and an iron spine as well! If you had any more, we really might starve to death.”

Each and every day Tom trudged off to school, his homework completed to perfection. Nothing stopped him, not the cold drenching rains, the sleet, the wind, or the cold. Like the mail, he went, regardless. He walked to and fro, never having the appropriate clothing to wear. He needed a new winter jacket to keep him warm; no money for that. He needed new shoes and high boots to keep his feet dry, for the shoes Pa had brought didn't fit anybody. Sometimes, to escape the dreary sameness of the cabin, Fanny trailed behind Tom, sitting in class and learning nothing, but it did give her time to flirt with the boys. Keith went to school when Our Jane was so sick she didn't scream to see him go.

We still took baths on Saturday nights, with the tin tub pulled close to the fire. Our hot water, drawn from the well, heated on the stove so we could also wash our hair. We were getting ready for the only fun event we had left to enjoy: going to church.

Every Sunday morning when the weather was halfway decent, at dawn we set out, wearing our pitiful best.

Tom carried Our Jane half the way. I'd help her walk the rest, or pick her up myself. If she hadn't had visions of ice-​cream cones in her head, I don't think she would have gone so willingly. Keith skipped and danced alongside whoever was in control of his most beloved possession, his sister. Fanny always raced on ahead. Way behind, the last of all, trudged Grandpa, slowing us down more than Our Jane did. Grandpa used a walking cane now, and often Tom had to drop back to help Grandpa over some fallen tree or boulder. The last thing we needed was for Grandpa to fall and break a bone.

It took one or two hours for Grandpa to make the descent into the valley, and that meant four of us were out in the cold that long just to keep him company. The fifth, Fanny, was snug inside the church long before we got there, hidden in some dark

cubbyhole, enjoying forbidden adult delights. Tom hunted her up immediately, smacked the boy she was with, dragged Fanny away, made her straighten her skirt, and we all arrived late, as usual the last to enter, and were the objects of the all-​over scrutiny that told us again we were the worst of the hill folks, the scummiest of the scum, the Casteels.

But to go to that small white church with the high steeple gave us hope. It was born in us to believe, to have faith, to trust.

As arduous as these Sunday excursions were for all of us, going to church gave us not only pleasure but much to talk about during our long lonely times. To sit in the back pew and look around and see all the prettily dressed people, to feel just a small part of the human race for a few hours, helped us to endure the tortures of the rest of the week.

I tried to avoid Miss Deale, who didn't always come to church, but this particular day she was there, turning to smile at us with relief in her pretty eyes, welcoming us with her gestures to sit next to her. Sharing the hymnbook with me, in glorious celebration of life Miss Deale raised her beautiful voice and sang. Our Jane lifted her small face and gazed at Miss Deale with such rapt adoration it made

tears come to my eyes. “How ya do that?” she whispered once we were seated and Reverend Wise was at the podium.

“We'll discuss singing after church,” whispered Miss Deale, leaning to lift Our Jane and hold her on her lap. From time to time I'd see her gazing down at Our Jane, touching her silky hair, tracing a delicate finger over Our Jane's sweet cheek.

To stand and hold the hymnbooks and sing was the best part of all. The worst came when we had to sit still and listen to all those frightening sermons about deeds that were so sinful. Christmas was just around the corner, inspiring Reverend Wayland Wise to be his most fervent, which meant his fire-​and-​brimstone sermons that gave me nightmares as bad as being in hell.

“Which one of you hasn't sinned? RISE UP and let us stare in awe, in admirationand disbelief! We are ALL sinners! Born from sin! Born through sin! Born into sin! And we will DIE in sin!”

Sin was all around us, inside us, lurking in the corners, in the dark side of our natures, sure to catch us.

“GIVE AND YE SHALL BE SAVED!” yelled Reverend Wise, pounding his fist on the podium and

making it shake. “Give and ye shall be delivered from Satan's arms! Give to the poor, the needy, the beset and bereft . . . and from the river of your gold all goodness shall flow back into your own lives. GIVE, GIVE, GIVE!”