Casteel 1 - Heaven (17 page)

When I wasn't hearing Tom groaning, I heard

other things in the night: the wheezing rattle in Grandpa's chest, the small incessant coughs of Our Jane, the rumblings of hunger in Keith's tummy; but most of all I heard footsteps on the rickety porch.

Pa coming home? Bears on the porch? Wolves coming nearer and nearer to eat us all? It was Tom's fervent belief that Pa would not

abandon us to starve and freeze to death. “No matter what ya think, he loves us, Heavenly, even you.” I was curled up on my side, with my feet on the small of Tom's back, but I had my head turned so I could stare up at the low ceiling, the unseen sky beyond, praying that Pa would come home again, healthy and strong, pleading for our understanding.

The next day was Christmas Eve. In our cupboard was only about half a cup of flour, a tablespoon or so of lard, and two dried apples. I woke that morning with a sense of doom that weighed me down so much I could hardly move about. I stood staring at what food I had left, tears streaking my face; Our Jane could eat all the gravy I made and still she wouldn't have enough. The floor squeaked behind me as Tom slipped his arms around my waist.

"Don't cry, Heavenly, please don't. Don't give

up now. Something will turn up to save us. Maybe we can sell some of Grandpa's whittled animals in town, and if we can do that, we'll have money to buy lots of food."

“When the snow is over,” I whispered hoarsely, my hunger pains a dull throb that never let up.

“Look,” he said, turning to the window and pointing at a bright streak in the leaden gray sky, “it's brightening. I can almost see the sun breaking through. Heavenly, God hasn't forgotten about us. He's sending Pa home, I can feel it in my bones. Even Pa wouldn't leave us here to starve alone, you know that.”

I didn't know anything anymore.

CHRISTMAS

GIFT . IT SEEMED Tom AND I COULD HAVE

TRAVELED A HUNDRED miles on a sunny day in less time than it took us to creep to the smokehouse on Christmas Eve, holding one to the other, as the wind howled in our ears, blew snow in our faces to almost blind us. But when we headed back, we had in our pockets a dozen of Grandpa's best wooden carvings that he'd never miss, they'd been so long in the smokehouse.

The relief of feeling the porch beneath my feet allowed me to open my eyes for the first time and see how white our world was, not from new snow but from the old snow the wind banked around our crouched cabin. Tom fought to open the door, and then he shoved me through and quickly followed.

Stumbling inside, at first I couldn't focus my eyes, they were so heavily lidded with snow caught on my lashes. Fanny was screaming, and there was so much other noise. Startled, I looked aroundonly to freeze in shock and then feel the instant flaring hope.

Pa! Come home for Christmas Day ? Our

prayers answered, at last, at last! He stood in the dim firelit room, gazing down

at where Keith and Our Jane were huddled together for warmth. Even with Fanny dancing around and yelling her head off they slept on and on, as did Grandpa in his rocker.

Pa didn't seem to hear or see Tom and me as we quietly slipped into the room, keeping as far from him as possible. Something in his stance, in his manner as he gazed down at the two youngest, put me on guard.

“Pa,” Tom cried joyfully, "ya've come back to

us!"

Pa turned, his expression blank, as if he didn't know that large, flame-​haired boy. “I've come t'bring a Christmas gift,” he said dully, with no joy in his eyes.

“Pa, where ya been?” asked Tom, while I stood back and refused to greet him, just as he refused to look my way and acknowledge my presence.

“Nowhere ya'd care to hear about.”

That's all he'd say before he fell to the floor beside Grandpa's rocker, and now Grandpa woke up enough to smile weakly at his son, and only too soon both he and Pa were snoring.

Bags and sacks and boxes of food were on the

table. We could eat again, yet it wasn't until I was in bed that night that I wondered what wonderful gift Pa had brought home, so huge he couldn't carry it in. Clothes? Toys? He never brought us toys or candy, yet hopefully I longed for all of that.

Tomorrow was Christmas Day.

“Thank you, God,” I whispered full of gratitude when I got up to pray on my knees by the bed; “you sent him in the nick of time, you truly did.”

On Christmas morning I was cooking mushrooms that Tom had found in a shallow woodsy ravine just yesterday, when Pa got up from the floor, went out briefly to use the outhouse, then strode back inside, unshaven and stale-​looking, and plucked Our Jane and Keith from their warm, snug bed. He held them both easily in his strong arms, looking at each with affection, while they stared at him with wide, kind of frightened eyes, as if they no longer knew him. They were my children now, not his. He didn't love them as I did, or else he wouldn't leave them for so many days without enough food. Holding my tongue by sheer force of will, I kept on cooking the mushrooms.

For an extra treat today we'd have eggs, but I'd save the bacon until Pa went away again. I'd not waste

even a thin slice on him. “Hurry up with the meal, girl,” barked Pa. "Got

company coming." Company?

“Where's the Christmas gift?” asked Tom, striding in from an hour of chopping wood.

Pa ambled to the nearest window, not noticing it was sparkling clean, and stared out. “Get these two dressed, and quick!” he ordered without meeting my eyes as he put Our Jane and Keith down on the floor.

Why did his eyes shine like that? Who was the company? Sarah? Could it be Sarahwas she our gift? How wonderful, absolutely wonderful!

Our Jane and Keith flew to me, as if I represented their mother, their security, their hopes and their dreams, and quickly enough I wiped both their faces. Soon I had them both dressed in their best, which was poor enough.

Life would get better now, I thought. I still possessed that childish optimism that refused to be dreary or depressed during the day. Steadfastly I held tight to hope, despite what I saw in Pa's eyes, sensed in the air, felt in my bones. Somethingsomething bad. His cold, hard eyes glanced my way briefly before they lingered on Tom, Fanny, and, last of all,

Keith and Our Jane. Of all his five children he preferred Tom, and

next Fanny. “Hi there, darlin,” he said to her with a sweet smile. “Got another hug fer yer pa?”

Fanny laughed. She had a smile and a hug for anyone who noticed she was alive. “Pa, I prayed every night, every day, ya'd come back. Missed ya so much it hurt.” She pouted her full lower lip and asked where he'd been.

I heard a car drive up outside and pull to a stop. I moved to the window to see in that car a stout man and his wife waiting, it seemed, for Pa's signal. Glancing at Pa, I could tell he was having a difficult time making up his mind as he lifted Fanny onto his lap and stroked her long black hair. “Now, you kids gotta face some hard facts,” he began in a short, gruff way, with pain in his eyes. “Yer ma ain't never coming back. Hill folks are like that. Once they make up their minds, put action behind it, ain't nothing short of death can make em undo a decision. Not ever. What's more, don't want to ever see her again. If she shows her face hereI'll use my shotgun and blow it off.” He didn't smile to show he was only joking.

Not one of us spoke. "Now, I've found nice rich folks who can't have

kids of their own, and they want one so much they're willin to pay good money for what they want. They want a young child. So it's gonna be either Keith or Our Jane. Now, don't none of ya yell out or say no, cause it has t'be done. If ya want t'see them grow up healthy and strong, and have nice things I can't afford to give them, ya keep yer mouths shut, and let this couple make their choice."

I went cold inside. All the hopes that had lit up were snuffed out in the harsh winds of knowing what Pa was going to do. Pa was Pa and would never, never change. A no-​good, filthy, rotten, drunken Casteel! A man without soul or heart, not even for his own.

“It's my way to give Keith or Our Jane the best kind of Christmas giftan don't none of ya go yellin an cryin an spoilin it. Ya think I don't love none of ya, but I do. Ya think I ain't been worried about what's goin on in this cabin, but I've worried. Been sick inside, sick outside, tryin to find a way to save ya all. An one dark night when I was sicker than any starvin dog in a gutter, it came t'me.”

He bestowed on Fanny a charming smile, gave another to Tom, Keith, and Our Jane, but he didn't even look at me. “Already told yer grandpa. He thinks it's a good thing to do.”

Fanny slowly left Pa's lap and backed up to where I was holding Our Jane, and Tom had both his hands on Keith's narrow, frail shoulders.

“Pa,” said Fanny, looking pale and concerned for once, “what ya plannin on doin?”

Again Pa smiled in his most winning way. (I thought he looked exceptionally cunning.) “I got t'thinkin about just how willin rich folks are to pay for what they want. Me, I got more kids than I can take care of. Some want kids an can't have any. There's lots of rich folks out there, wantin what I got plenty of an so I'm sellin.”

“Pa,” Tom said stoutly, beginning to tremble, “yer just jokin, ain't ya?”

“Shut up, boy,” warned Pa in a low, intense tone. “I'm not joking. Dead serious. Got my mind set on this being the best thing. The only way out. At least one of ya will be saved from starvin.”

This was our Christmas present? Selling Keith or Our Jane?

I felt sick. My arms clutched Our Jane tighter to my breasts as I buried my face in her soft curling hair.

Pa moved to the door to let in that couple from the black car.

A fat lady wearing high-​heeled pumps entered,

followed by a fatter man. Both wore warm, heavy coats with fur collars, and gloves, and big, happy smiles on their faces that soon faded when they saw the hostility on our faces. Then they turned in a slow circle to stare with abject horror at all the poverty.

No Christmas tree here. No gifts, no trimmings, no packages spread around. Nothing at all to indicate this was anything but another day to suffer through.

And here was Pa planning on selling his own.

Beyond belief, those city folks' expressive, shocked eyes said. “Oh, Lester,” cried the rather pretty fat woman, getting down on her knees to try and cuddle Keith to her enormous bosom, “did you hear what he said as we came up the steps? We can't let this dear, lovely child starve! Look at his eyes, so huge and pretty. Look at this fine silky hair. And he's clean. Sweet-​looking. And that dear little girl the older one is holdingisn't she just a darling, isn't she, Lester?”

Panic was all I could feel. Oh, why had I bathed and shampooed them yesterday? Why didn't they look dirty so she wouldn't want them? I sobbed and held Our Jane tighter as she clung to me with trembling fear. Maybe Our Jane or Keith would be better off but would I, would I? They were mine, not hers. She

hadn't stayed up with them all night, and walked the floors, or spoon-​fed them, taking hours and hours that could have been spent outdoors playing.

Go way, go way, I wanted to scream, but what did I say? This:

“Our Jane is only seven years old.” My voice was hoarse as I determined to save Our Jane from this woman, this man. “Neither she nor Keith has ever been away from home. They can't be separated from each other; they'll cry and scream, be unhappy enough to die.”

“Seven,” murmured the woman, appearing shocked. “I thought she was younger. I wanted a younger child. Lester, can you believe she's seven and how old is the little boy?”

“Eight!” I cried. “Too old to adopt! And Our Jane is sickly,” I went on with hope in my heart. “Actually, she's never been what anyone could call healthy. She throws up often, has every disease that rolls around, colds all the time and high fevers . . .” And on and on I would have gone, trying to ruin Our Jane's chances, because I couldn't bear to see her go, for her own good or notbut Pa scowled and ordered me to shut up.

“Then we'll take the little boy,” spoke up the fat

man called Lester, pulling out his bulging leather wallet. “I always wanted a son, and that boy there is a good-​looking young man, and well worth the price you're asking, Mr. Casteel. Five hundred, right?”

Our Jane began to scream. “NO! NO! NO!” she yelled right in my ear. She wiggled free from my tight embrace and

ran to join Keith, throwing her arms about him, and continued to scream, terrible screams expressing the kind of anguish a child should never know. Keith saw her pain, joined in, and clung to his sister.

More desperate words from me: “Keith is not what you'd want in a son. He's very quiet, uneasy in the dark, scared most of the timecan't bear to be without his sister. You don't want to go, do you, Keith?”

“Don't wanna go!” cried Keith. “NO, NO, NO!” wailed Our Jane. "Oh, Lester . . . isn't this heartbreaking, just

heartbreaking? We can't separate such two little dears. Lester, why not take both? We can afford both, and then they won't cry or miss their family so much, if they have each other. An you'll have your son, an I'll have my daughter, an we'll all be so happy, our family of four."

both!

Oh, God! In trying to save each of them, I'd lost

But there was hope, for Lester was hesitant, however insistent his wife. If only Pa would keep quiet, but he said in a sad, caring way: “Now, that's what I call real quality, a woman with a heart of gold, willing to give to two instead of one,” and that's all it took for Lester to make his decision, and then he was pulling out papers and was adding another line or two before he signed, and Pa bent over to painstakingly form his own signature.

As difficult as Pa made writing seem, and as painfully slow as he was, I knew when he was finished there would be a signature as beautiful as any. Like many ignorant people, to Pa appearances meant more than content.

During all of this, I'd backed to the stove and picked up the heavy iron poker. Once I had it in both my hands, I raised it high and had the courage to actually hiss when I yelled at Pa. “Ssstop thisss! I won't let you do thisss! Pa, the authorities will come and put you in jail if you sell your own flesh and blood! Keith and Our Jane are not hogs or chickens for sale, they're your own children!”

Pa moved like lightning, even as Tom hurried

to protect me. With one painful twist of my arm, I had to release the poker or have my arm broken. The poker fell to the floor with a clatter.

The stout Woman looked my way, alaimed. “Mr. Casteel, you did say you'd talked this over with the other children. They agreed, didn't they?”

“Yes, of course they agreed,” lied Pa. His charm, his sincerity, created some mesmerizing aura of integrity that convinced that married pair easily enough. “Ya know how younguns are, agreeing one moment, squabbling the next. Soon as they enjoy what this money buys, all left here in this cabin will know I did the right thing.”

NO! NO! my mind was screaming. Don't believe him, he's a liar! But I was speechless, caught up in the horror of knowing I might never again see my little brother and sister.

Before it could even be absorbed, Keith and Our Jane were sold, like hogs at the market, and that man named Lester said to Pa: "We hope you realize, Mr. Casteel, that this sale is legally binding, and you can never seek to recover your two children once we leave. I'm an attorney, and I've written a contract that says you are fully cognizant of what you're doing, and the consequences of this act, and this contract that

states firmly that you did willingly, without altercation or argument or persuasion, or force, agree to sell your two youngest children to me and to my wife, and you do irrevocably give up all rights to see them again, or contact them in any way in the future."

I cried out. Pa might not even know what irrevocably meant!

No one heeded me, but Tom moved to my side and pulled me into his arms. “It's not going to happen, Heavenly,” he whispered. “After hearing all that, Pa surely won't go through with it.”