Casteel 1 - Heaven (22 page)

And all the time the good-​looking young

husband kept his eyes glued on me. He smiled as if to reassure me, and that smile of his lit up his eyes. For some reason that made me feel betterhe, at least, approved of what he saw.

“Well,” said Pa, planting his big feet wide apart, his huge fists on his hips, “it's up t'ya, girl, up t'ya . .”

From one couple to the other I stared. How could I know from appearances? What was I supposed to look for? The auburn-​haired woman in the bright pink knit smiled winningly, and that made her even prettier. I admired her long painted nails, her earrings big as half-​dollars; admired her lips, her clothes, her hair. The older, gray-​haired woman met my eyes without blinking and she didn't smile. Her earrings were tiny pearls and not impressive at all.

I thought I saw something hostile in her eyes that made me draw back and look at her husband and he wouldn't meet my gaze. How could I tell if there was no eye contact? The soul was read through the eyesdeceiving eyes if they didn't meet yours squarely.

Again I turned to the younger couple, who wore the “in” kind of clothes and not the tailored, expensive type of the older couple, the kind of clothes that would never go out of style. Stuffy, dowdy clothes,

Fanny would say. At that time I knew nothing at all about comparing real wealth with tacky nouveau riche.

And all this only made me feel less than human in my shapeless garment, drooping low on one shoulder because the neckline was much too large, with its galled hemline that I was always meaning to fix but never had time to tend to. Even as I stood there, I felt wispy wild hair tickling my forehead, so automatically I reached up to brush it away. This drew everyone's attention to my reddened, chapped hands with short, broken fingernails. I tried to hide my hands that scrubbed clothes every day of my life and did all the dishwashing. Who'd want me when I was such a mess?

Neither pair would.

Fanny had been chosen quickly, eagerly. Fanny hadn't ruined her hands, and Fanny's long, straight hair was heavy enough to stay in place. I was too ordinary, too ugly, and too patheticwho could ever want meif Logan couldn't bear to meet my eyes anymore? How could I have dared to think that perhaps one day he might even love me?

“Well, girl,” Pa said again, frowning and showing his disapproval because I was taking so long.

“I said ya'd have yer pick, an if ya don't make it soon, do it fer ya.”

Troubled, sensing something of an undercurrent and not understanding what it was, I tried to guess what was behind the older pair's withdrawn, cold attitude, their eyes resting on me but apparently not wanting to really see me. That made me see them as dull, staid, perhaps cold, and all the time the auburn- haired woman with the colorless eyes was smiling, smiling, and Sarah had been red-​haired and so lovingat least until the babies started dying.

Yes, the younger couple would be exciting and less strict. And that was how I made my hasty decision. “Them,” I said, indicating the redhead and her handsome husband. The wife seemed a bit older, but that was all right, she was still young enough, and the longer I stared the prettier she became.

Those colorless sea eyes with round black fish swimming took on a glistening glowof happiness? She hurried to me, gathered me in her embrace, smothered my face against her voluptuous bosom. “Ya'll neva regret it, neva,” she said, half laughing, glancing triumphantly at Pa, then at her husband. “I'm gonna make ya t'best motha there is, t'very very best there is . .”

Then, as if she'd touched red-​hot coals, she dropped her arms and stepped back from me, glancing down to see if I'd dirtied her hot-​pink suit before she brushed it off vigorously.

She wasn't really so pretty on close inspection. Her darkly fringed pale eyes were set a bit too close together, and her ears were small and lay close to her head, making them almost not there. And yet, when you didn't pick her apart bit by bit, altogether she made a woman marvelous to behold.

Truthfully, I'd never seen a woman with so much exaggerated femininity, radiating sexuality with her heaving bosom, her full buttocks, her tiny waist that must have struggled to support all it had to. Her knit top was strained so much it appeared thin over the stress areas. Her pants emphasized the wide V of her crotchmaking Pa stare at her with a queer smile, not of admiration but of contempt.

Why was he smiling like that? How could he feel contemptuous of a woman he didn't knowdid he know her? Of course, he'd have to have seen her before to set this thing up.

Again, fearfully alarmed, I looked at the older couple, too late. Already they had turned and were heading for the door. I felt a sinking sensation.

“Thank you, Mr. Casteel,” said the older gentleman, stepping outside, assisting his wife over the doorsill, and, as if with relief, they both headed for their long black car. Pa hastened after them, leaving the door open behind him, said a few words in a low tone, and then hurried back.

No sooner was Pa in the door than he grinned at me in the most mocking way.

Had I chosen wrong? Panicky butterflies were on the wing again, battering my brain with doubts, buffeting my heart with indecision that came too late.

“My name is Calhoun Dennison,” said the good-​looking husband, stepping forward and taking my trembling hand firmly between both of his, “and this is my wife, Kitty Dennison. Thank you for choosing us, Heaven.”

His voice was soft, barely above a whisper. I'd never heard a man with such a soft voice before. Was his an educated voice? It had to be, since all the uneducated roared and shouted, yelled and bellowed.

“Oh, Cal, ain't she jus darlin, jus darlin?” asked Kitty Dennison in a voice slightly on the shrill side. “Ain't it gonna be fun dressin her up an makin her look pretty, ain't it, though?”

I was breathing hard. Beside me Grandpa was

quietly crying. Grandpa, Grandpa, you could have said something beforewhy wait until it's too late to show you care?

“An weren't it easy, Cal?” laughed Kitty, hugging and kissing him, and making Pa turn away as if revolted by her display. “Thought she might want them in their big, rich car an heavy, expensive coats, but it were easy, so easy.”

Again I felt panic.

“Honey,” Kitty Dennison said to me when she had finished playing with her man, “ya run along an put on yer coat, but don't ya botha t'pack any of yer clothes. Gonna buy ya everythin new, brand-​new. Don't wanna carry no filthy germs inta my clean home . . .” She gave the cabin another look, this time clearly showing her repugnance. “Kin't wait t'get ya outa here.”

With lead in my legs, I pulled my old coat from the nail in the bedroom, put it on, and, daring her disapproval, I picked up the suitcase I'd swathed about with Granny's old shawls. I wasn't going to leave my mother's things here to rot, especially not that beautiful bride doll.

“Ya remember, now,” called Kitty Dennison, “jus bring yerself, nothin else.”

I strolled out of what we called the bedroom into full view, wearing my shabby old coat, lugging my unsightly bundle, and stared defiantly at Kitty Dennison. Her pale eyes glittered strangely. “Didn't I tell ya not t'bring anythin?” shrilled Kitty Dennison, irritation on her face. “Kin't take that filthy stuff inta my clean house, ya kin't.”

“I can't leave here without what I hold dearest in the world,” I said with determination. “My granny made these shawls, and they're clean. I just washed them.”

“Ya'll have t'wash em again, then,” said Kitty, somewhat placated but still looking angry.

I paused beside Grandpa, leaning to kiss the top of his balding head. “Take care, Grandpa. Don't fall and break your bones. I'll write often, and somebody can always . . .” And here I hesitated, not wanting those strangers to guess that Grandpa couldn't read or write. “Well, I'll write.”

“Ya done been a good girl, t'best. Couldn't have wanted anyone betta.” He sobbed, dabbed at his tears with a handful of his shirttail, and continued brokenly, “Ya go an ya be happy, ya hear?”

“Yes, I hear, and please do take care of yourself, Grandpa.”

“Ya be good now, ya hear.”

“I'll be good,” I swore. I blinked back my own tears. “Good-​bye, Grandpa.”

“Bye . . .” said Grandpa. Then he picked up a new stick and began to shave off the bark.

When, if ever, has he really looked at me? I was going to cry, and I didn't want Pa to see me cry. I stared him straight in the eyes, and for a change his dark eyes locked with mine in silent combat. Hate you, Pa. Not saying good-​bye to you and take care. I'm going and I don't care. Nobody needs me here. Nobody has ever needed me but Tom, Keith, and Our Jane . . . not Fanny, not Granny, not really, and certainly not Grandpa, who has his whittling.

“Now, don't ya cry, girl,” Kitty said in a strong voice. “Ya've seen me before, an jus didn't know it. I've seen ya in church when I come t'visit my ma an pa who live in Winnerrow. There ya sits with all yer kinfolks, lookin like an angel, truly like an angel.”

Pa's head jerked upward. His hard, dark eyes clashed with Kitty's. He didn't say a word, not a word, leaving me floundering again in uncertainty. There was something unspoken between them, something that hinted that they knew each other more than just casually. It terrified me that she was the kind of

woman Pa went afterdifferent from my real mother. “Really did envy that red-​haired ma of yers,”

Kitty gushed on, as if Pa didn't matter a hoot to her and that made me even more suspicious. “Since ya were knee-​high onta a grasshopper, I've been watchin yer ma luggin all her brood t'church an back. Envied her then, really did. Wanted her kids so bad, cause they were all so pretty.” Her loud, shrill voice turned dull and cold.

“Kin't have none of my own.” Her strange eyes filled with bitterness and fixed on Pa in a hard, accusing way. Oh, oh, oh . . she did know him!

“There's some who might say that's my good luck, not to havd no kids of my own. . but I got me one now. . an she's an ANGEL, a real live angel; even if she don't have silvery-​blond hair, she's still got t'angel face and t'angel-​blue eyes . . . ain't that right, Cal?”

“Yeah,” agreed Cal. “She's sure got the look of innocence, if that's what you mean.”

I didn't know what either one was talking about. I feared the battle of unspoken recognition between Pa and Kitty. I'd never seen this woman before, and she wasn't the kind anyone would easily overlook. I glanced again at her husband, who was staring around

the cabin. His pity showed when he looked at Grandpa sitting like a limp rag doll in his rocker. Eyes blank, his hands idle now. What was he thinking, if anything? Had Granny and Grandpa ever thought? Did minds close off as age came on? Did old ears go deaf just so they wouldn't have to hear what might make them miserable?

“First name is Kitty. Not a nickname. Wouldn't want to be no Katherine, or Katie, or Kate, or Nit. An, honey, ya kin call him Cal, like I does. Now, when yer livin with us yer gonna enjoy all t'big color TV sets we got. Ten of em.” She flashed her eyes again at Pa, as if to show him just what kind of rich man she'd captured. Pa seemed indifferent.

Ten TV sets? I stared at her disbelievingly. Ten? Why have ten when one would be enough?

Shrilly Kitty laughed. She hadn't even heard my silent question. “Knew that would give ya a jolt. Cal here runs his own TV repair and sale shop, an some dummies turn in their old sets fer nothin or almost nothin, so he kin bring em home an fix em up good as new, an he sells em as new t'poor folks who don't know no different. Got me a smart man, a handsome, clever man, best kind of man t'have. Turns a tidy profit, too, don't ya, Cal?”

Cal looked embarrassed. Kitty laughed again. "Now ya hurry up an say all yer good-​byes,

Heaven,“ said Kitty, assuming an air of authority and looking with distaste at the contents of the cabin again, as if to make sure Pa saw how little she thought of his home and his money-​making abilities. ”Say good-​bye to yer fatha, an we'll set off. Gotta get home soon as possible."

I could only stand there, not looking at Pa, not wanting to look at Pa.

It was Kitty who was holding up our leave- taking. Kitty who addressed Pa, not me. “I keep my house spick an span, everythin in its place. An everythin's got its place, believe ya me. Not like this shack of yers.”

Pa leaned back against a wall, pulled out a smoke, and lit it. Kitty turned to me. “Kin't stand dirt an messiness. An yer pa done said ya knew how t'cook. I pray t'God he didn't tell us no lie.”

“I can cook,” I answered in a small voice. “But I've never made anything complicated.” An edge of panic was in my voice as I realized this woman might expect fancy meals when all I really knew how to make well were fluffy biscuits and tasty lard gravy.

Pa wore an odd look, half sad, half full of satisfaction, as he looked from me back to Kitty and Cal Dennison. “Ya done made the right choice,” he said solemnly, then turned to smother either a sob or laughter.

That it could be laughter put fears in me I hadn't felt before. I sobbed, my tears beginning to flow fast. I sailed right on by Pa, saying nothing. Nor did he speak to me.

At the door I turned and looked back. Something sweet and sour was in my throat; it hurt me to leave this shabby house that had known my first steps, and Tom's and Fanny's, and it hurt too much to think of Keith and Our Jane.

“0, Lord, give me my day in the future,” I whis- pered before I turned and headed for the steps.

The late-​winter sun shone hot on my head as I strode toward the nice-​looking white car with the red seats. Pa drifted out to the porch, his hunting hounds back again, as if he'd rented them out and reclaimed them so they could crowd about his legs. Cats and kittens perched on the roof, on lidded rain barrels, peered out from under the porch, and the pigs were rooting with snorts and grunts. Chickens roamed at will, a rooster chasing a hen with obvious intent on

reproducing himself. I stared in amazement. Where had they come from? Were they really there? Was I seeing them only in my imagination? I rubbed at my eyes that were smeary with tears. It had been ever so long since I saw the hounds, the cats, the pigs and chickens. Had Pa brought them all here in his pickup truck, planning to stay awhile and take care of his father?