Casteel - Dark Angel Part 15

My eyes had pa.s.sed several times over a tall, powerful-looking man with his black hair stylishly trimmed and shaped, though his jeans were faded and tight, and the white shirt he wore was more or less the same kind of loose smock shirt that Troy so favored. It was Pa!

Pa, cleaner and fresher and healthier-looking than I'd ever seen him, and if he'd aged even one day, I couldn't tell it from the fifty feet that separated us. He was talking to a stout, jocular-looking, whiteheaded man wearing a red shirt, and was, apparently, giving him orders. He even glanced at Tom as if to check why his son wasn't busy feeding the animals. His dark intense eyes skimmed over me without coming back to gawk the way most men did when first I filled their vision. That alone told me that Pa wasn't interested in picking up young girls. His casualness also told me he hadn't recognized me at all. He smiled at Tom in a fatherly, congratulatory way, then turned to talk again to the man in the red shirt.

"That's Mr. Windenbarron," whispered Tom. "The current owner. He used to be a clown with Ringling Brothers. Everyone says there's not room in this country for two major circuses, but Guy Windenbarron thinks with Pa's help, the two of them can really grow. He's old, you know, and can't live much longer, and he needs ten thousand dollars to leave to his wife. We've already saved up seven. So it shouldn't be too long now, and Mr. Windenbarron will stay on to help us out as long as he can. He's been a real friend to Pa, and to me."

Tom's enthusiasm made me feel a bit sick. Only then did I realize that his life had gone on, just as mine had, arid he'd found new friends and new aspirations.

"Come back in the evening," Tom invited, as if to hurry me out of reach from Pa, "and listen to Pa's spiel, and see the circus, and when the lights are turned on, and the music plays, maybe you will catch some of the circus fever that a great many people feel."

Pity for him was what I felt. Sorrow for someone determined to destroy himself.

I spent the remaining afternoon hours in a motel room, trying to rest and put my doubts at ease. There didn't seem anything I could do to change Tom's mind, and yet I had to give it another try.

That evening, about seven, I dressed in a casual summer dress and set out again for the fenced-in circus grounds. A startling metamorphosis had taken place. The Ferris wheel spun slowly, dazzling the eyes with its triple rows of colored lights. In fact every building, tent, and caravan trailer was brightly lit. The lights, the music, the hordes of people, created a certain kind of magic I'd never expected. Shoddy, illpainted buildings appeared pristine and beautiful. The day's shabby circus wagons with their scratches and missing chips of red paint and gold appeared brand new. Music from a dozen sources was playing, and to my utmost surprise, those hundreds of casually dressed country people streaming through the open gates created great excitement with their happy antic.i.p.ations of having a wonderful time. I followed, just another in the stream. I stared at girls my age hugged up close to boyfriends, wearing the briefest kind of costumes that would have brought scowls to Tony's face. Flushed parents held fast to the hands of children who wanted to run wild and explore; moving stiff and slow far to the rear of family groups staggered grandparents obviously more accustomed to spending their evenings in porch rockers.

In my entire eighteen years I had not been to even one circus performance. My experience with the circus had been as an observer watching a TV set, and that had not a.s.saulted my senses with the sound, sight, and smells of animals, humans, hay, manure, sweat, and over all, from dozens of sources, the overwhelming fragrance of hot dogs and hamburgers, ice cream and b.u.t.tery popcorn.

As I wandered over the circus grounds to stare at sideshow tents, where near-naked girls wearing heavy makeup undulated their hips provocatively, and freaks displayed their misfortunes with amazing indifference, for the first time I began to understand what had appealed to a twelve-year-old hillbilly boy straight from the w.i.l.l.i.e.s--appealed to him so much he'd returned to the hills to hypnotize himself into believing this was the best of all possible worlds: Better than the dark and dim coal mines, the spinning colored lights. Better than making and running moonshine and daring the Feds. Better in a thousand ways, all this, than that grim mountain shack and all the others like it, where reputations never died and your past mistakes lived on to haunt you forever. I could almost feel sorry for that ignorant boy.

Fine for Pa, all of this, now that he was too old to aim higher. Not fine for Tom, any of this, once he'd had enough of the tastes and flavors that would one day grow boring. I hadn't come to be seduced.

First I needed a ticket, and to buy that ticket I had to advance in--single file toward where a man stood on a high pedestal and touted the virtues of the circus performance held inside. I knew who he was even before I heard his voice. Snared in the line, I stared up at him, at his feet clad in black patentleather boots that almost reached his knees. Then came his strong, long legs clad in the tightest possible white pants. His masculinity was very obvious, taking me back to grade school days when the kids had snickered at pictures of dukes, generals, and other notables who so blatantly displayed themselves in pants fitted like those Pa wore. His long-tailed scarlet coat was emblazoned with gold stripes on the sleeves, epaulets on the shoulders, and double-breasted with gold b.u.t.tons. Above the crisp clean white of his cravat was the same handsome face that I remembered, remarkably the same. His sins were not written on his face, nor had time taken from him what it had taken from Grandpa. No, Pa stood strong and powerful, in full prime, healthier-appearing than I'd ever seen him, better groomed, his face so closely shaven there wasn't even a shadow of whiskers. His black eyes sparkled, giving him a charismatic, magnetic quality. I saw women staring up at him as if at a G.o.d.

From time to time he whipped off his black top hat and used it for grand flourishes. "Five dollars, ladies, gentlemen, that's all it costs to enter another world, a world such as you may never have the chance to encounter again . . a world where man and beast challenge one another, where beautiful ladies and daring men risk their lives high in the air for your entertainment. Two dollars and fifty cents per child under twelve. Babes in arms are free! Come see Lady G.o.diva ride her horse and spring into the air from the back of that horse, to land fifty feet above . . . and that hair moves, gentlemen, it moves!" On and on he cajoled as the cash register four feet to his right rang its bells and chimed its cash flow. I heard about the dangers of the kings of the jungle soon to waltz to the snap of the bull whip, as inch by inch I was moving closer and closer to Pa. So far he hadn't seen me. I didn't plan on allowing him to see me. I wore on my head a wide-brimmed straw hat that was held in place by a blue silk scarf that tied under my chin. And I had sungla.s.ses with me to put on. But it was night, and somehow I forgot to slip the shades on.

Then I was there, at the head of the line, and Pa was looking down at me. "Why, a young thing like you doesn't need to hide her light under a bushel," he cried, and swooping to lean over, he tugged at the blue silk scarf, and my hat came off. Our faces were only inches apart.

I heard his sharp intake of breath.

I saw his shock. For a moment he seemed speechless, paralyzed. And then he smiled. He handed me my hat with its attached dangling blue silk. "Now," he boomed for all to hear, "that's the kind of beautiful face that should never be put in the shade . . ." and with that I was dismissed.

How quickly he could cover surprise! Why couldn't I? My knees went weak, my legs shaky; I wanted to scream and berate him and let these trusting people know just what kind of evil monster he was! Instead I was shoved along, ordered to hurry, and before I knew what was happening, I was seated on a bleacher bench, and my own brother Tom was grinning at me. "Wow, that was something, the way Pa took off your hat. Without a hat you wouldn't have pulled his attention nearly as much . . . please, Heavenly, stop looking like that! There's no need to tremble. He can't hurt you, he wouldn't hurt you." Briefly he hugged me against his chest, just as he used to do when I panicked. "There's somebody behind you who's dying to say h.e.l.lo," he whispered.

My hands, heavy with all the rings I'd worn to impress Pa, rose to my throat, as slowly I turned to meet the faded blue eyes of a wizened old man. Grandpa!

Grandpa dressed as I'd never seen him before, in summer sports clothes; with hard, white, summer shoes on his feet. His watery, bewildered eyes swam with tears. Obviously, from the way he kept staring at me, he was trying to place me in his thoughts, and while he did that, I saw that he'd gained weight. Healthy color flushed his cheeks.

"Oh," he cried finally, having pushed the right b.u.t.tons, "it's chile Heaven! She's done come back to us! Just like she said she would! Annie," he whispered, giving the air next to him an elbow nudge, "don't she look good, don't she, Annie?" His arm went out as if to embrace the Annie who'd been at his right arm for so many years, and it hurt, really hurt to think that he couldn't live without his fantasy that she was still alive. I threw my arms about his neck, and pressed my lips on his cheek.

"Oh, Grandpa, it's so good to see you again, so good!"

"Ya should hug yer granny first, chile, ya should," he admonished.

Dutifully I gave the shade of my dead granny a hug, and I kissed the air where her cheek might have been, and I sobbed for all that had been lost, and sobbed some more for all that had to be gained. How did I grab at air and convince stubbornness and pride such as all Casteels had, and bring Tom to his senses?

The rinky-d.i.n.k circus life was no place for Tom, especially when I had more than enough money at my disposal to see him through college. As I stared at my grandfather, I thought I saw a weak spot in Tom's armor of hillbilly pride.

"Are you still lonesome for the hills, Grandpa?" I shouldn't nave asked.

His pathetic old face lost all its glow. Wistful grief smeared his good health and he seemed to shrink.

"Ain't no betta place t'be, than there, where we belong. Annie says that all t'time . . take me back t'my place. Back t'where we belong."

Sixteen Dream Chasers .

I DROVE AWAY FROM TOM AND GRANDPA FEELING frustrated, angry, and determined now to save f.a.n.n.y from the worst in herself, since I couldn't save anyone else. Loosely contained in Grandpa's pants pocket was a wad of bills he hadn't even bothered to count. "You give this- to Tom after I'm gone," I'd instructed. "You make him take it, and use it for his future." But the Lord above was the only one who would know exactly what a senile old man would do with so much money.

And once more I flew, westward to Nashville where f.a.n.n.y had moved the day after she sold her baby to Reverend Wayland Wise and his wife. Once in the city, I gave a cab driver f.a.n.n.y's address, then leaned back and closed my eyes. Defeat seemed all around me, and there was nothing I could do right. Troy was the only safe harbor in sight, and achingly I longed for his strength beside me; yet this was something I had to do alone. I could never allow f.a.n.n.y into my private life, never.

It was sultry and hot in Nashville, which appeared quaint and very pretty. Storm clouds hovered overhead as my cab cruised down pretty, tree-lined streets, past old-fashioned, gingerbread Victorian houses, and some modern mansions that were breathtakingly beautiful. However, when the cab parked before the address I'd given, the four-storied house that might once have been genteel was rundown, with peeling paint and sagging blinds, as was every house in what had to be one of the worst areas of this famous city.

My heels clicked on the sagging steps, causing several young people sprawled on porch chairs and swings to lazily turn their heads and stare my way. "Great b.a.l.l.s of fire," breathed one good-looking young man wearing jeans and nothing on his sweaty chest. He jumped to his feet and bowed my way mockingly. "Look at what's come to call! High society!"

"I am Heaven Casteel," I began, trying not to feel intimidated by seven sets of eyes staring at me with what seemed hostility. "f.a.n.n.y Louisa is my sister."

"Yeah," said the same young man who had jumped up, "I recognize you from the pictures she's always showing of her rich sister who never sends her any money."

I blanched. f.a.n.n.y had never written to me! If she had photographs they had to be ones that I'd mailed first to Tom. And for the first time I thought that maybe Tony had deliberately kept from me any correspondence he thought unnecessary. "Is f.a.n.n.y here?"

"Naw," drawled a pretty blond girl in shorts and a halter top, a cigarette dangling from her full, red lips, "f.a.n.n.y thinks she's got a hot lead that should have been mine--but she won't make it. She can't sing or act or dance worth a hoot. I'm not worried at all that tomorrow they'll audition me."

It was like f.a.n.n.y to try and beat someone out of a job, but I didn't say that. I had called f.a.n.n.y in advance to tell her what time I would be arriving, and still she wasn't polite enough to wait. My expression must have shown my disappointment.

"She was so excited I guess she just forgot you were coming," explained another nice-looking young man who had already stated I didn't talk like f.a.n.n.y's sister.

By this time a crowd of young people had formed around me on the porch to gape and stare, and it was with relief that I finally escaped, driven inside by a sudden roll of thunder. "Room 404," a girl named Rosemary shouted.

The rain that had threatened began to slice down as I entered f.a.n.n.y's unlocked door. It was a small but fairly nice room. Or it could have been nice if f.a.n.n.y had bothered-to pick up her clothes, and dust and run the vacuum once in a while. Quickly I set about making her bed with the clean sheets I found in a drawer. When I had the room in fairly good order, I sat in the one chair near the window, staring blindly out at the storm, and thought about Troy, about Tom, about Keith and Our Jane, and that was enough to put rain on my face. How young and stupid I was to live and feed on emotions of the past, allowing the richness and beauty of life to pa.s.s me by because I couldn't control fate and the lives of others. I'd take from now on what was offered and forget the past. No one was suffering more than I was, not even f.a.n.n.y.

My hands rose to press against my throbbing forehead. The lull of the rain and the thunder and lightning through the open window sent me into light sleep. Troy and I were running side by side in the clouds, fighting mists of steam and five old men who were chasing us. "You run on," ordered Troy, shoving me forward, "and I'll divert them by running in another direction."

No! No! I screamed in my mute dream voice. And those five old men weren't diverted. They followed where he ran, not where I did!

I bolted awake.

The rain had freshened and cooled the room that had been unbearably stuffy. The dusty shadows of late afternoon enhanced the view, turning the old houses with their fancy porches and verandas softly romantic. I felt disoriented as I stared around the small room with its cheap furnishings. Where was I?

Before I could decide, the door burst open. Dripping wet and complaining loudly to herself about the weather and the loss of her last pocket change, my sister f.a.n.n.y, age sixteen, hurtled across the narrow s.p.a.ce that separated us and threw herself into my arms.

"Heaven, it's ya! Ya really did come! Ya do kerr 'bout me!" One swift embrace, one peck on my cheek, and she shoved away, to stare down at herself. "d.a.m.n rain done gone an messed up my best outfit!" f.a.n.n.y turned to yank off her sodden red dress before she fell into a chair and tugged off her black, midcalf plastic boots that were beaded with water. "d.a.m.ned if my feet don't hurt clear up t'my waist."

I froze. Kitty flashed before my eyes. Often she'd used those words, but then, all hill and valley people in the w.i.l.l.i.e.s used more or less the same expressions.

"d.a.m.ned agent hurries me out of here when I planned t'stay an wait fer ya t'show up, and when I get there all they want me t'do is 'read.' I already told 'em I kin't read good yet. I want a dancin' part or a singin' role! But they don't give me nothin' but bit parts without lines . . an' I been poundin' these sidewalks fer almost half a year or more!"

f.a.n.n.y had always been able to discard her frustration like a garment easy to rip off, and she did that now. Flashing my way her brilliant smile that revealed small, white, even teeth, she turned on her charm. Oh, the lucky Casteel children born with their healthy teeth!

"Ya bring me somethin? Did ya? Tom done wrote an said ya got tons of money t'waste, and ya sent him lots of Christmas gifts, an gifts t'Grandpa. Why Grandpa don't need no money! no gifts! I'm t'one who needs all ya kin spare!"

She had grown thinner and prettier since the last time I saw her, seemingly taller, or perhaps her height was only exaggerated by the tight, black slip she wore, so she resembled a shapely pencil. Her black hair lay in long wet strands on her head, but even wet and disheveled she was still striking enough to turn many a man's eye.

I was confused in my feelings about her--loving her because she was blood kin, feeling I had to love her and take care of her.

The eager greed in her dark eyes repelled me as one by one I took from the large leather shopping bag the gifts I'd brought her. Even before I had the last box from the bag she was ripping open the first gift that she'd seized, heedless of the beautiful and expensive wrappings and ribbons, heedless of anything but what was inside. f.a.n.n.y squealed when she saw the scarlet dress.

"Oh, oh! Ya brought me jus' what I need fer t'party I'm goin ta next week! A red dancin' dress!"

Tossing the dress aside she ripped into her second present, her squeals rising and falling in the excitement of discovering the scarlet evening bag decorated with wide bands of rhinestones. The red satin slippers were a bit too small, but somehow she managed to jam her feet inside, and her beautiful, exotic face wore a rapt expression when finally she pulled out the white fox stole. "All this ya bought fer me? My own new fur? Oh, Heaven, I neva thought ya liked me, an ya do! Ya'd have t'love me t'give me so much."

Then, I guess for the first time, she really saw me. Her black eyes narrowed until the whites were only glimmers between her heavily lashed lids. I had changed a great deal, my mirrors told me that. The beauty that had been but slight when I lived in the hills had intensified, and a clever hairstylist had worked miracles that flattered my face. My expensive dress clung to ripe curves fitted neatly onto a slender body, and I knew as she looked me over that I had dressed with particular care for this meeting with my sister.

Her dark eyes skimmed down over my body to my shoes, back to my face. She drew in her breath, making a whistling sound. "Well, looky here, my olemaid sister done gone an made herself s.e.xy lookin'."

Hot, embarra.s.sed blood flooded my face. "We don't live in the hills anymore. Girls in Boston don't marry at twelve, thirteen, or fourteen. You could hardly call me an old maid."

"Ya talk funny," she stated, open hostility in her eyes now. "All ya brought me is thins! When ya sent Grandpa money, an he's got no place t'spend it!"

"Look in your purse, f.a.n.n.y."

Again squealing with delight, she yanked open the delicate small purse that had cost two hundred dollars, and she stared at the ten one-hundred-dollar bills as if she expected more. "Oh, Jesus Christ on t'cross," she breathed, busily counting, "look what ya done gone an' did . . . saved my life. Was broke . . . had me only enough left to finish out this week." She looked up, her dark eyes sparked with red highlights from the dress. "Thank ya, Heaven."

She smiled, and when f.a.n.n.y smiled her white teeth flashed brilliantly in contrast to her Indian coloring. "Go on now, ya tell me what ya been doin' in ole bean town, where,' hear all t'ladies wear blue stockins an t'men are hotter fer politics than they are fer screwin'!"

I was a fool that day--careless, forgetful of just what kind of girl f.a.n.n.y was.

Maybe it was because for the first time in her life f.a.n.n.y really listened attentively to me. And only when it was too late did I falter and curse myself for revealing much that I should have kept secret, especially from f.a.n.n.y.

By the time I came to my senses, she was curled up on the bed wearing nothing but her black panties and her front-hook bra that she kept unfastening, then automatically fastening. "Now let me get this queer thin' straight--yer grandma Jillian is sixty-one years ole an looks young? What kind of air they got up there anyway?"

The sharpness in her eyes gave me sanity again, and put me on guard. "Tell me what you've been doing," I hastily said. "What do you hear about your baby?"

Apparently I'd chosen the right topic of diversion. She lit into the subject with a vengeance. "Ole lady Wise sends me snapshots of my baby all t'time. They call her Darcy. Ain't that some pretty name though? She's got black hair . . . oh, gosh, she's some pretty thin'," and then she was jumping up and pawing through a drawer scrambled with clothes, and from a large brown envelope she pulled out twenty or more snapshots showing a baby girl in various stages of development. "Ya sure kin tell who her ma is, kin't ya?" f.a.n.n.y asked proudly. "Of course she's got some of Waysie, too. Not much, but some."

Waysie? I smiled to think of the good Reverend called "Waysie." But f.a.n.n.y didn't exaggerate. The little girl I gazed at was a beautiful child. It stunned me that a baby born from such an unholy union would turn out so well. "She's beautiful, f.a.n.n.y, truly beautiful, and as you said, she has inherited the best of your features, and her father's."

Dramatically f.a.n.n.y's face distorted. She threw herself on the bed she'd rumpled, crushing her new red dress and shoes and purse that she'd left there, and she began to wail and cry, beating at the cheap pillows with both fists.

"It ain't no good here, Heaven! Ain't at all like I thought it'd be when I were a youngun in t'hills! Those directors an' producers at t'Opry like my looks an' hate my voice! They tell me t'go an take voice lessons, an go back t'school, an learn how t'talk, or betta yet, they tell me t'study dancin' so I don't have ta say nothin' ! I went one day an took a lesson t'learn grace like they said I had t'have, an it hurt so bad stretching my muscles I neva went back! I thought all ya had t'know how t'do was kick high, an ya know I've been kicking high all my life! An my singin' voice makes 'em screw up their faces like it hurts their ears. They say I got too much tw.a.n.g! I thought country singers couldn't have too much of anythin'! Heaven, they say I've got a great face an body, but I'm only a mediocre talent-- what do they mean by that? If I'm medium bad, that means I'm medium good an' I could get betta!

"But I don't want it no more! It hurts t'hear 'em laugh at me. An' now all my money is gone. It went so fast once I got used t'spendin it. I used t'sleep on top of it. Fraid somebody'd take it. Iffen ya hadn't come I'd have me only fifteen dollars t'finish out t'week, an then I were plannin' on hittin' t'streets an' peddlin' my wares." - Her eyes flicked my way to notice my reaction, and when she saw none, she flipped over and used her fists to grind away her tears. And like a switch had been pushed, her tears fled, and her look of frustrated depression disappeared. She smiled again. A wicked, hateful smile.

"Ya smell rich now, Heaven. Ya truly do. Bet that perfume yer wearin' cost plenty. An' I neva saw such soft-lookin' leather as that yer purse an' shoes are made of. Bet ya got ten fur coats! Bet ya got hundreds of dresses, thousands of shoes, millions of dollars t'waste! An' ya come bearing gifts that cost real dough. An' ya don't really like me, not like ya do Tom. Yer sittin' there feelin' sorry fer me cause I kin't cut t'mustard when ya done s.n.a.t.c.hed t'whole jar! Look at my room, an' think of where ya jus came from. Oh, I done heard from Tom all t'stuff yer not tellin' me. Ya got everythin' up there in that mansion that's got fifty rooms an eighteen bathrooms, an Lord knows what ya do with all of 'em! Ya got three rooms all yer own, wid four closets full of clothes an' handbags an' shoes, jewels an' furs, an' college comin' up, too. Me, I got nothin' but sore feet an' resentments fer this whole d.a.m.ned city that don't know how t'be kind!"

Again her fists rubbed ruthlessly at her eyes until the flesh around them turned red and bruisedlooking. "An ya got goody-two-shoes Logan Stonewall fer good measure! I guess it neva crossed yer stupid brain I might have wanted Logan fer myself. Ya went an took him away from me, an' I hate ya fer that! Every time I think of what ya did erne, I hate ya! Even when I miss ya, I hate ya! An' it's time ya did somethin' fer me 'sides givin' me a handful of measly bills that don't mean anythin' to ya anyway! It's all ova ya now, ya kin give ten one-hundred-dollar bills cause ya got plenty more where they come from!"

Before I could blink she was up on her feet, striking out at me!

I slapped back at her for the first time in my life. The surprise of the sting my hand made on her face made her draw away and whimper.

"Ya neva hit me before," she sobbed. "Ya done turned mean, Heaven Casteel, mean!"

"Put on your clothes," I said sharply. "I'm hungry and want to eat." I watched her scramble into a short red skirt that resembled leather, and over this she pulled a white cotton sweater that was much too small. Gold hoop earrings swung from her pierced ears. The scuffed and thin-soled red plastic shoes she put her feet into had black heels five inches high, and the contents of her small, red plastic purse had spilled on the floor when she dropped it on seeing me. A crumpled pack of cigarettes lay beside five little square boxes of condoms. I looked away. "I'm sorry I came, f.a.n.n.y. After dinner we'll say goodbye."

She was silent all during our meal in an Italian restaurant down the street from where she lived. f.a.n.n.y devoured everything on her plate, then polished off what I left, though I would have paid for another entree. From time to time she'd gaze at me furtively in a calculating way, and I knew without guessing that she was plotting her next move. Eager to part from her and return to Troy, still I allowed her to talk me into returning to her small room. "Please, Heaven, please, for ole times' sake, 'cause yer my sista an' ya jus' can't up an' leave me t'fend fer myself." '

Once we were back in her room, she whirled to confront me. "Now ya wait a minute!" she screamed, putting her fists on her hips and spreading her legs. "Who ya think ya are, anyway? Ya kin't jus come an' go without Join' somethin' more than givin' me a free meal, cheap clothes, an' a lil sc.r.a.p of money!"

She angered me. f.a.n.n.y had never given me a kind word in her life, much less anything material. "Why don't you ask me about Tom, or Keith and Our Jane?"

"I kin't worry 'bout n.o.body but myself!" she yelled, moving to block my way so I couldn't reach the door without shoving her aside. "Ya owe me, Heaven, owe me! When Ma went away ya were supposed t'do yer best fer me--an ya didn't! Ya let Pa sell me t'that Reverend an his wife, an' now they got my baby! An' when ya knew I shouldn't have sold her! Ya could have stopped me, but ya didn't try hard enough!"

My lips gaped open! I had done my very best to bring reality into f.a.n.n.y's decision to give up her baby for ten thousand dollars. "I tried, f.a.n.n.y, I tried," I said with weary impatience. "Now it's too late."

"It's neva too late! An' ya didn't try hard enough! Ya shoulda found t'right words t'say an' I woulda known betta! Now I got nothin'! No money an' no baby! An I want my baby! I want my baby so much it hurts! I kin't sleep fer thinkin' they got her, an' I'll neva have her . . . an' I love her, need her, want her. Neva held ray own baby but once, for they took her away an' give her t'ole lady Wise."

Dumbfounded by f.a.n.n.y and her irrational swings of temperament, I tried to express sympathy, but she wanted none of that.

"Don't ya try an' tell me I should have known betta. I didn't know betta, an' now I'm sorry. So here's what ya kin do with all that moola ya got stashed somewheres . . . ya go back t'Winnerrow an' ya give t'Reverend an his wife that ten thousand they paid me fer her! Or pay 'em twice that much, but ya buy back my baby!"

I couldn't speak. What she asked was impossible. Her dark eyes burned into mine. "Ya hear me? Ya've got t'buy back my baby!"

"You can't mean what you say! There's no way I can buy back your baby! You told me when you entered that hospital you signed release papers of adoption--"

"No, I didn't! I jus' signed papers that said Mrs. Wise could keep my baby till I was old enough t'take kerr of her."

I couldn't tell whether or not she was lying; I'd never been able to read f.a.n.n.y as I had Tom. Still, I tried to rationalize. "I can't go back there and take a baby away from parents who adore her and take good care of her. You showed me the photographs, f.a.n.n.y. I can see they love her enough to give her everything, and what can you give her? I can't turn a helpless baby over to you and your kind of life." I flung my arms wide, indicating the hopeless room where a baby crib wouldn't fit. "What would you do with a child so young and demanding? Where would you keep her while you go out to earn a living? Can you tell me that?"

"I don't have eta ya nothin'!" she cried, her eyes flashing before they watered. "Ya jus' do as I say or I'll use this thousand bucks t'fly up t'Boston! An' when I'm wid yer grandmother Jillian, who looks like some freakytid, I'll tell her all about her hi angel gal who ran away from Boston. I'll spill it all out, that mountain shack wid no inside plumbing, an' Pa an' his moonshining, and his five brothers all in jail, an' when Jillian hears everythin' about how her lil angel girl lived 'fore she died, she won't look so young no more.

I'll tell her about Pa an' how he visited Shirley's Place even when he were married Cher. An' I'll tell her about t'revenue men, an t' outhouse an t'stinks, an t'hunger her rich lil girl suffered through. An' I'll polish her little girl off jus' as it happened, givin' birth with no doctor, jus Granny t'help. An' when I'm done tellin her all kinds of rotten thins about ya, she'll end up hatin' ya!--if she don't lose what mind she's got left first!"

Again stunned, I could only stare at f.a.n.n.y, overwhelmed that she could hate me so much, when all my life I'd done the best I could for her. I didn't know how to confront someone as obsessed as she appeared to be. Nervously I ran my hands over my hair, then I headed for the door.

"Don't ya go yet, Heaven Leigh Casteel!" Her tw.a.n.gy sarcasm rang familiar bells of shame in my ears. Oh she knew all the ways to hurt me most, reminding me of who I was and where I'd come from.

I felt colder than I'd ever felt, and it was midsummer, and the summer storm had only freshened the hot day, not chilled it.

"I'll do anythin' I kin think of t'hurt ya--unless ya go an' get my baby an' bring her back t'me!"

"You know I can't do that," I said again, so tired of f.a.n.n.y and her shrill voice I wished I'd never come.

"Then what kin ya do fer me? Huh? Can ya give me everythin' ya've got fer yer own? Give me a room in that huge house, so I kin enjoy what ya have? If ya loved me, like yer always sayin', ya'd want me where ya kin see me every day."

Colder and colder I was growing. The last person I needed to see every day of my life was f.a.n.n.y. "I'm sorry, f.a.n.n.y," I began in icy tones, "I don't want you in my life. I'll send you money once a month, enough to see you through comfortably, but you'll never be invited to live where I do. You see, my grandmother's husband made me promise I'd never allow any Casteel relative of mine to mar the perfection of his days, and if you're plotting now on blackmailing me by threatening to tell him I've seen you, and Torn, then forget it. For he would cut me out of his life without a cent, as easily as you can bat your eyes--and then there would be no money for you-- and no money left with which to buy your baby back."

Her slitlike dark eyes narrowed even more. "How much ya gonna send me each month?"

"Enough!" I bit back.