Casteel 1 - Heaven (21 page)

Of course this gave everyone a good view of all the new clothes Fanny wore. Including white boots with fur trim at the top.

When the services were over, Fanny stood with Reverend Wise and his tall wife to shake hands with all the congregation, who considered themselves deprived if they didn't have the chance to shake the hand of the Reverend or his wife before they left to somehow endure six entire days of solid sinful living, only to come again to be forgiven. For it seemed the more you sinned during the week, the more the Lord above loved you for giving him so much to forgive.

If the Lord loved sinners so much, he must really be thrilled to have Luke Casteel in his church. Why, if I were truly lucky he might glue Pa's feet to the floor and never let him go.

Inch by slow inch we followed in the wake of

everyone else. No one spoke to us, though a few mountain folk nodded. The cold wind whistled inside each time someone passed through the wide double doors. Everyone but me wanted to touch the hand of the spokesman of God here on earth, the handsome, smooth-​talking Reverend Wise, and if not him, his wife . . . or his newly adopted daughter.

Like a lovely princess was Fanny in her costly white fur and bright green velvet dress, displayed every time Fanny put one leg or another forward, shuffling like an idiot dancer just to show off. For one brief moment I forgot my loss, my predicament, and enjoyed Fanny's gain.

But lo, when Fanny's own family showed up, she turned away, whispered something into the ear of Rosalynn Wise, and disappeared in the crowd.

Pa sailed right on by, heading straight for the door without even pausing to turn his eyes on the Reverend or his wife. He had me by the arm, holding it with steely fingers. Nobody looked at the Casteels, or what was left of us.

Grandpa followed Pa's lead obediently, his gray, almost bald head bowed and subservient, until I tore my arm away from Pa and dashed back to deliberately hold up the line as I fixed my most

penetrating glare on Rosalynn Wise. "Will you kindly tell Fanny when you see her

next that I asked about her?“ ”I will." Her voice was cold and flat, as if

wishing I had followed Pa's example and ignored her as he had. “And you tell your father not to come to this church, an we would all greatly appreciate if no Casteel ever came to services again.”

Shocked, I stared at the woman whose husband had just given his sermon about the Lord loving sinners and welcoming them into his home. “You have a Casteel living in your home, don't you?”

“If you are referring to our daughter, her name has been legally changed to Wise. Louisa Wise is her name now.”

“Louisa is Fanny's middle name!” I cried. “You can't just change her names when her father is still living.” Someone shoved me from behind.

Suddenly I was forced by many hands out to the wooden steps. Alarmed and angry, I spun around to yell something or other about hypocrites, when I saw Logan Stonewall directly in front of me. But for him I would have confronted Reverend Wise himself, shouted out the whole truth to everyone herebut Logan was staring at me, through me. He didn't speak.

He didn't smile either. It was as if he didn't want to see me! And I,

who'd thought nothing could hurt me more after losing Sarah, Granny, Our Jane, Keith, and Tom, felt my heart plunge into a deep well of darkness. Of hopelessness.

What had happened between the time he came to see me and now?

Logan, Logan, I wanted to cry out, but pride reared its head, and I didn't say a word, just lifted my chin and strode on by the Stonewall family, who stood off in a separate little group of three.

Pa seized hold of my arm again and dragged me

away.

That night, lying on the floor close to belching Ole Smokey, I heard the creak of the old pine floorboards as Pa got out of the brass bed and paced the small space of the other room. He stole as quietly as one of his Indian ancestors to where I lay very still. With my eyes half lidded, I could just see his bare feet, his bare legs. Pretending to turn in my sleep, I rolled over on my side, presenting him with my back, and curled up tighter in the old stained quilt.

Did he kneel on the floor by the stove just so he could touch my hair? I felt something moving lightly

over my head. He'd never touched me before. I froze, almost stopped breathing. My heart beat wildly; my eyes, unable to stay closed, popped open wide and staring. Why was he touching me?

“Soft,” I heard him murmur, “like hers. . . silky, like hers . . .”

Then his hand was on my shoulder that had somehow worked its way free of the covering; that hand that had always battered me cruelly slid tenderly down my upper arm, and then back up, lingering where my shoulder joined my neck. For long, long moments I felt scared, holding my breath and waiting, waiting for something horrible to happen.

“Luke . . . what ya doin?” Grandpa asked in an odd voice.

Pa snatched his hand away.

Pa hadn't hit me! Hadn't hurt me! I kept thinking as I lay there marveling at the kindness of that hand on my shoulder and arm. Why, after all these years, had he touched me lovinglywhy?

Grandpa's frail voice woke me near dawn. He was at the stove, heating water, giving me a few extra moments of sleep. I'd overslept, perhaps from worrying so late into the night.

"I saw ya, Luke! I won't have it. I won't! Ya

leave that chile be. There's a whole town of women t'take once ya know it's safe, but right now ya don't need a woman, or a girl."

“She's mine!” Pa raged. “And I'm well now!” His face was red when I dared to take a peek. “Born of my seed . . . and I'll do what I damn well like with her. She's old enough, plenty old enough. Why, her ma wasn't but a little older when she married up with me.”

Grandpa's voice turned to a thin wind from the north. “I remember a night when all the world went dark fer ya, an it'll go even darker if ya touch that girl. Get her away from here, out of temptation's reach. She's no more fer ya than the other one was.”

Monday night Pa disappeared while I slept. He came back near dawn. I felt drugged when I woke up, heavy-​hearted; dull-​spirited, yet I got up to do what I always did, opening the iron stove door, shoving in more wood, putting on water to boil. Pa watched me closely, seeming to weigh my mood, or judge what I might do. When I looked again, Pa seemed reflective, as if trying to pull himself together, before he said in a strange, tight kind of voice, with better pronunciation than usual:

"You, my sweet young thing, are going to have

a choice. A choice not many of us have.“ He moved so I had to look at him or be trapped in a corner. ”Down in the valley are two childless couples who have seen you from time to time, and it seems they both admire you, so when I approached them, saying you needed new parents, both couples were eager to have you. Soon they'll be coming. I could sell you to the highest bidder, but I won't."

My eyes clashed with his defiantly, yet I could find nothing to say that would prevent him from doing what he wanted to do.

“This time, I'm allowing you to choose just which set of parents you want.”

A certain kind of indifference fell like a cloak over me. Over and over again Grandpa's words echoed in my mind: “Get her away from here. . .” Even Grandpa didn't want me. As Fanny had shouted out, anyone, any place, would be better than here.

Any house! Any parents! Grandpa wanted me to go. There he sat

whittling on a figure, as if a thousand grandchildren could be sold away, and still he'd just sit and whittle.

Thoughts of Logan Stonewall flitted like doomed moths to the candle of my burning despair.

He wouldn't even meet my eyes. Wouldn't even turn his head to stare after me, as I'd hoped he would do. And even if his parents beside him had made him shy or embarrassed, still he could have managed a secret signal, but he hadn't made any. Why not? He'd trudged all the way up the mountainside. Had seeing inside the cabin shocked him to such an extent his feelings for me had changed?

I don't care, I said to myself over and over. Why should I care? He wouldn't believe me when I told the truth.

For the first time I truthfully believed maybe life would be better living with decent town folks. And when I was safely away from this place I'd find a way to search for those I loved.

“You better get dressed,” Pa said after I'd wiped the table clean and put away the floor bed pallets. “They'll be coming soon.”

I sucked in my breath, tried to meet his eyes, and failed. Better so, I told myself, better so. Without zest I looked through the boxes to find the best of what clothes I had. Before I put them on, I swept the cabin floorand not once did Pa move his eyes from me.

I made the bed, just as if this were another

ordinary day. Pa didn't move his eyes from whatever I did. He made me self-​conscious. Made me nervous. Made me clumsy and slow when usually I felt graceful and swift. Made me feel so many emotions I grew confused, reeling with my long-​lived hatred for him.

Two shiny new cars crawled into our dirt yard and parked one behind the other. A white car, a black car. The black one was long and luxurious-​looking, the white one smaller, snazzier, with red seats.

I was wearing the only dress Fanny hadn't taken, a simple shiftlike garment that had once been blue and was now gray from years of washings. Underneath I had on one of the two pairs of underpants I owned. I needed to wear a bra now, but I didn't own one. Quickly I brushed my hair; then I remembered the suitcase. I had to take that suitcase with me!

Soon I had retrieved the cherished suitcase that held the treasures of my mother, and around it I wrapped several of Granny's handmade shawls.

Pa's dark eyes narrowed when he saw me with the suitcase that had been hers. Still, he didn't say a word to stop me from taking my mother's belongings. I would have died to save them from his destruction.

Maybe he guessed that. Twice Pa seemed to rip away his eyes from

staring at my mouth. Was he seeing how much I looked like her, his dead angel? Inwardly I shivered. My own mother's lips, the doll mirrored--a doll in a wedding gowna doll who looked no older than I did now.

Deep in my thoughts, I didn't hear the raps on the door. Didn't glimpse the two couples who came in until they were there, in the middle of our largest room. Ole Smokey coughed and spat out smoke. Pa shook hands, smiling, acting like a genial host. I looked around, trying to see something I'd forgotten.

Then came the silence. The long, awful silence as four sets of eyes turned on me, the item up for sale. Eyes that swept over me from head to feet, took my measurements, studied my face, hands, body, while I was caught in a web of darkness so intense I could hardly see them at all.

Now I knew how Tom must have felt. TomI could feel him beside me, giving me strength, whispering his encouraging words. It'll be all right, Heavenly. . . don't it all work out in t'end, don't it?

Pa spoke loud and sharp, making my eyes focus on an older couple who stood slightly in front of a

younger one who held back considerately for the middle-​aged couple to have the first chance at the sale merchandise. I edged backward toward a corner not so far from where Grandpa sat whittling.

Look at me, Grandpa, see what your good- hearted son is doing! Stealing from you the only one you have left that loves you! Say something to stop him, Toby Casteel . . say it, say it, say it!

He said nothing, only whittled.

The gray-​haired man and woman before me were tall and very distinguished, both wearing gray coats with suits underneath, as if they came from a foreign world, with education and intelligence an aura all around them. They didn't stare around the way the younger man and woman did at the shocking poverty and the pitifulness of Grandpa whittling and acting as if no one had come to call.

Their bearing was arrogant, regal, their eyes kind as they looked at me pressed back against the wall, with panic in my face and heart. What my eyes must have shown flicked a shimmer of pity in the man's blue eyes, but the woman refused to show anything. She could have been thinking about the weather. I sighed again, swallowing the lump in my throat, or tried to, feeling trapped. I wished time

would speed up, and it would be two years from now. But right at this moment my heart was thudding madly, drumming out a tune of fright in the cage of my ribs, making me feel weak in the knees and queasy in the stomach. I wanted Grandpa to glance upward and meet my eyes and do something to stop this, but I'd never succeeded in forcing Grandpa to do anything when Pa was around.

They don't like me, don't like me, I kept thinking about the older couple, who refused to smile encouragement my way that would make me feel right about choosing them. With the kind of desperate hope that had been Fanny's, I darted a quick glance at the younger pair.

The man was tall and good-​looking, with dark brown straight hair and light brown eyes. Beside him stood his wife, almost as tall as he was. Six feet, or very near it, she had to be, even without those high heels. Her hair was a huge mass of auburn red, darker and richer than Sarah's hair fall been. Sarah had never been to a beauty parlor, and only too obviously this woman's hair couldn't survive without one. Hair teased to such exaggerated fullness it seemed quite solid. Her eyes were a strange pale color, so light they seemed not to have any color at all, only huge pupils

swimming in a colorless sea. She had that porcelain- white skin that often came with naturally red hair, flawless and made up to perfection. A pretty face? Yes. Very pretty.

She had the look of the hill people . . . something there. .

Unlike the older couple who wore those heavy gray tailored coats, she wore a hot-​pink suit, so tight it appeared painted on. She sashayed about, staring at everything, even leaning to peer into the oven that she opened. Why did she do that? Straightening up, she smiled at everyone and at no one in particular, turning about to stare brazenly at the old brass bed that I had just made, staring up at the baskets on the ceiling, gaping at the pitiful attempts to give the cabin comforts and coziness. Her face wore myriad expressions, changing fleetingly, as if all struggled to survive new impressions that wiped out former gasps, shocks, shudders . . . and other unspoken surprises. With two long-​nailed lacquered fingers she picked up the cloth I had used to wipe off the table, held it gingerly two seconds, then dropped it to the floor as if she'd touched a loathsome disease. Her bright pink lips froze in the smile she tried to maintain.