He told me.
I felt the blood drain from me. The baby was already two months old, it seemed. Two months. Two months ago was when I had visited Troy in the cottage. Oh, my God! Whose baby was it? I didn't know. Whose baby was it? Logan's . . or Troy's?
"Mrs. Stonewall, Mrs. Stonewall." The doctor's voice brought me back to the room. "Are you all right?"
"Oh, forgive me, Doctor," I said, trying to gather myself. "I just felt a bit dizzy. It's such happy news, so unexpected. I just don't understand why I didn't suspect. Why I didn't keep track. There's been so much . ."
I drifted off as he ushered me out of his office. I was happy to be alone in the back of the limo, as the same fear pounded and pounded through my brain. Whose baby was inside me? Logan's or Troy's? And worse, though God might look down and strike me dead, I didn't know whose I wished it to be.
But by the time we pulled up to the front gate at Farthy, I knew I didn't care--I loved them both. And I knew in my heart that Logan would worship our child and be the best father in the whole world. I may not have known who my real father was, but the father who raised me, Luke, didn't love me the way I needed to be loved. Should I confess the truth to Logan and tell him that the child might be Troy's and take the risk that he would become as angry and bitter as Luke had been and treat our baby the way I had been treated? No, I couldn't let that happen, I couldn't do that to my baby. If I did confess the truth to him, and we couldn't tell whose baby it was when it was born, he would always have doubts and he wouldn't love the child as much as he would if he were sure. It wasn't a fair thing to do to Logan. Besides, it might be his, it might well be his! No, I decided in my heart, this secret would remain beside the others that remained locked there by sealed lips.
Logan was in Tony's office, speaking on the phone, when I returned from the doctor's.
"Could you please come up to our suite, Logan? I have something to tell you."
He covered the phone with his hand. "Can't it wait a half hour or so, Heaven? I'm in the middle of an important negotiation."
"Logan Stonewall! You be up in our suite in two minutes!" I ordered. "You're about to get the biggest acquisition of your life!" I turned and hurried from the room, not wanting him to guess the truth from my excited eyes.
A couple of minutes later Logan stood in the doorway of our suite, his arms crossed, looking a little perturbed at my interruption. "This better be good, Heaven," he warned.
I walked over to him, threw my arms around his neck, and looked deep into his eyes. "You're going to be a father," I announced.
His face reddened with excitement; his sapphire eyes brightened like the morning sky on a clear summer's day, and he smiled from ear to ear.
"Heaven," he said, "how can you stand there so calmly and say that?" He held me away from him and up and down his eyes scanned me, searching for some difference. Then he laughed and gave a boyish leap and hugged me again. "This is wonderful news! Wait until we tell Tony! Wait until we tell my parents! This is a cause for celebration! Let's all go out tonight and have the finest dinner possible! I'll go tell Tony and tell Rye to cancel the meal he's preparing. Oh, I'm so happy we bought that big house now. Have the contractors prepare a nursery room immediately, and we'll hire a nurse to help you when you're in Winnerow and when you're here, too."
He clasped his hands together and raised them over his head. He looked like he was about to break out into one of Grandpa's jigs.
"When the baby is born, we'll have two big celebrations--one here at Farthy for all our Boston friends and one in Winnerow. You're going to be a mother and I'm going to be a father!" he exclaimed. "Heaven, you look beautiful, radiant. What a wonderful surprise. Thank you, thank you," he said and embraced me again, falling on his knees and pressing his head against my belly. Suddenly he burst into tears. He couldn't stop crying as I caressed his head over and over.
"Heaven," he sobbed, "I am the happiest man on earth, I am--" Then he looked up, his blue eyes all watery, tears streaking his face." don't deserve this happiness," he said, "forgive me."
I wanted to be as happy as he was and join him in his excitement, but the more he poured out his joy, the more I wondered if I were going to present him with another man's child. It seemed so deceitful, but I couldn't say anything. It was time for us to have happiness in this house anyway, I thought. It was time to have new beginnings. I would do nothing to put a damper on that, not when we all needed it so.
He was so elated, he rushed out of the suite half dressed. I laughed at him and pushed aside my dark worries and forebodings. I decided I would be just as excited and just as happy. Moments later Tony appeared at the door beside him.
"What is this Logan is babbling about? I'm to be a great-grandfather?" Tony asked, his eyes glittering with pride and happiness.
"It seems so," I said.
"Congratulations, Heaven," he said and he came forward to embrace me. "Your timing couldn't be any better. It's like a jolt of new energy and hope; it's truly a spiritual gift."
"We're going to the Cape Cod House," Logan announced. "I just made the reservations. Champagne, lobster dinners, the works, eh, Tony?"
"Of course." He smiled as if Logan had hit on the most brilliant idea. "We must celebrate. It's good to hear good news for a change. And won't it be wonderful to hear a baby crying and laughing in the halls of Farthy once again! The Tattertons indeed will go on."
"Yes," I said and then fear wrung my heart. Maybe the Tattertons would go on even more pure than he realizes, I thought. But I pushed the thought away. Instead, I let myself be carried off by Logan's exhilaration and energy. We all dressed like fashion plates, got into our limo, and went off to celebrate the coming of my new baby, all of us already intoxicated by happiness before we raised our first glasses of champagne to toast the future.
We had had a wonderful time at the restaurant. Tony and Logan drank a bottle and a half of champagne. Every time I reached for my glass, either one or the other would say, "Now, now, you've got to be careful what you eat and drink, little mother." For some reason just saying it would set them both off, laughing hysterically. Before long, everyone in the restaurant was watching us.
That light, carefree abandon remained with us throughout the evening and all the way home. We had taken the opportunity for happiness and used it like a salve to cover and heal our scars of sorrow and bereavement. We got into a discussion about names for the baby, and Tony complained that modern-day parents just didn't seek dignified names for their children anymore.
"They're naming them after everything nowadays, from soap-opera characters to racehorses. If it's a boy, I'd love to see you name him Wilfred or Horace, after my great-great-grandfather and greatgrandfather. He should have a middle name with equal dignity .. say, Theodore or . ."
"Or Anthony," I interjected.
"Wouldn't be so bad," Tony agreed, quirking an eyebrow and smiling. Logan laughed nervously.
"If it's a girl, I'd like to name her after my granny-- Annie," I told him.
"Annie? Shouldn't you call her Ann?" Tony asked. Logan nodded. He would agree with anything at this moment, I thought. The champagne had gone to his head.
"No, I think Annie is perfect," I pronounced emphatically.
"Oh, well, as long as you don't call her 'Late for dinner," Tony said and he and Logan fell into another fit of boyish laughter.
We were all still in a gay and celebrating mood as we entered Farthinggale Manor. Curtis's face sobered all of us immediately, however. He greeted us with a formal nod, sadly shaking his head.
"What is it, Curtis?" Tony asked, a worried frown crushing his smile.
"A telegram arrived for you, sir, and then shortly afterward, there was a phone call from a Mr."--he looked down at his note pad--"J. Arthur Steine, an attorney representing Luke Casteel,"
"Luke Casteel!" I looked at Tony, bewildered. His face blanched as he stepped forward to take the telegram from Curtis. What was this? My mind roamed like a blind beast, trying to fin
d a familiar landmark. Why would Pa's lawyer be sending a telegram to Tony? Logan grabbed my hand and I waited at his side while Tony ripped open the envelope and read the contents. His face drained of color until it looked like the pale mask of a ghost.
"My God," he said softly and simply handed me the telegram. It was addressed to Anthony Tatterton. It read:
.
TERRIBLE AUTO ACCIDENT STOP LUKE AND STACIE CASTEEL FATALLY INJURED STOP DETAILS TO FOLLOW STOP J. ARTHUR STEINE
.
"What is it?" Logan asked. Without speaking, I handed him the telegram.
"Oh, my God," he said. He put his arm around me. "Heaven . ."
I raised my hand to indicate I would be all right and ran directly into the living room. It felt like my heart had stopped beating and my blood had frozen in place. I no longer felt the floor beneath me.
"Curtis, bring Mrs. Stonewall some water," Logan ordered. He followed me in and Tony went off to his office to call J. Arthur Steine. I sat on the couch and leaned back, closing my eyes. Logan sat beside me, holding my hand.
"I know it's terrible news," Logan said, "but you've got to think of your own health and the baby's."
"I'll be all right, Logan," I whispered. "I'll be all right."
Pa. Luke Casteel. The man whose love I had craved but never won. But now only good and happy scenes came to mind. I saw him outside our cabin pitching a baseball to Tom and Tom swinging with the bat, the only plaything left over from Luke's own childhood. I saw him out in the yard on a warm summer's day, his ebony-dark hair shining. He was handsome enough to be a movie star when he was clean shaven and neatly dressed. How the women would gaze at him! I remembered how much I longed for him to look kindly and lovingly at me, and when I was lucky enough to catch him staring at me, probably seeing his beloved Angel Leigh in my face, I remember how it filled my heart with such excitement and joy.
Pa, the beautiful, unattainable man I loved and hated, now gone and lost forever, no chance of us ever meeting on some quiet day and forgiving each other for our hates and our loves, no chance to explain or to understand, no chance to mend things or heal wounds, no chance for soft words.
How many times in my deepest thoughts had I rehearsed the scene.
Luke would look at me and I at him and we would know the time had come to make our peace. We would go off together, I and the father I never had, and we would walk, silently at first. Then Luke would begin. He would tell me how bad he was when we had all lived in the Willies. He would confess his sins and apologize for his negligence. He would speak honestly to me and he would finally tell me that he had been unfair to dislike me simply for being born. He would beg my forgiveness and then I would beg his.
I would beg him to forgive me for my mad pursuit of vengeance, for trying to look just like his Angel Leigh and haunting him at his circus. And I would tell him once and for all that Tom's death wasn't his fault . . . it was mine
And then we would comfort each other and hug each other while the sun began to fall over the horizon and sink into the sea, and my heart would be so full of joy it would feel like it would bust.
We would walk back hand in hand, renewed, reborn.
Now I would walk alone and the words that should have been said would never be uttered.
The tears silently climbed over my lids and began their descent down my cheeks. Logan held me closer to him and we sat there quietly. Curtis brought me some water and then Tony appeared. I wiped my face and looked up at him. He shook his head and sat in the high-back chair across from us.
"It was a head-on crash. A drunk driver crossed the highway and ran smack into them. They were coming home from the circus site just outside of Atlanta when it happened. The lawyer says from the police report it looks as if they didn't know what hit them. The other driver must have been going ninety."
"Oh, God," I said. My stomach felt wobbly. It was as if dozens of butterflies had suddenly burst their cocoons and beat their wings within me. "What about Drake?" I asked.
"Thank God he wasn't with them at the time. They had a live-in maid and nanny, Mrs. Cotton. She's with the child now. Luke's wife had no brothers or sisters and only her mother is alive, but living in a nursing home."
"I've got to go immediately to Atlanta," I said. "To make the funeral arrangements and to get Drake. He'll live with us now," I said, turning to Logan. There was no opposition in his face.
"Of course," he said. "I'll go with you."
"I've already taken care of the funeral arrangements," Tony said. "Through this attorney."
I stared at him a moment. There were a dozen questions colliding through my mind, not the least of which was why the telegram came to him instead of to me, but I didn't feel like asking questions now. I wanted to set out immediately for Atlanta and get Drake.
"I'll have to contact Keith and Jane and . . . and Fanny," I said. "When will the funeral be?"
"Under the circumstances, I thought it best to be as soon as it can be," Tony said. "Day after tomorrow. Should give us enough time to see to any business problems and . . ."
"I'll meet with this lawyer tomorrow," I said. "And do whatever has to be done."
Tony stared at me for a moment and then looked quickly at Logan.
"Don't you think, considering your condition, you had better leave that business to us? fly down to Atlanta and--"
"I'm pregnant, Tony," I interrupted, "not sick or helpless. It's my obligation, my responsibility," I insisted. "I want to do all that I can now for Drake and . . . for Luke. I want to do it," I repeated, my eyes blazing.
Tony simply nodded. "Whatever, be here to help if you want me. Just call."
"Thank you," I said. "I'd better start calling my brother and sisters. Logan, will you make the travel arrangements, please?"
"Of course," he said.
"Use my office if you like," Tony offered. I nodded and went there to make my calls.
Keith and Jane took it as calmly as I expected they would. After all, they'd never really known Luke. They both wanted to know if I thought they should come down to Atlanta to attend the funeral, but I thought it was not necessary. After all, what was Luke to them, but a man who had sold them when they were little children. It was more important that they continue working toward their goals, staying in their new lives that were better than anything Luke had ever thought of giving them. They were relieved to hear me say it.
Fanny was another story.
"Pa's dead?" she asked after I told her the details. She sounded shocked, as if she needed to hear the whole story again before it seemed real. "How'dja know he's really dead? Maybe he ain't dead, Heaven," she insisted. "Maybe he's just hurt bad. Maybe--"
"No, Fanny. It was a fatal crash. There's no sense getting up false hope."
"Pa . . Oh, Jesus." I heard her sob. "I was goin' ta go see him soon, let him know how good I was gettin' on."
"The funeral's the day after tomorrow," I said. "I'm going down tonight to see after Drake."
"Drake," she said. "Poor li'l Drake. He'll need a new mommy now."
"I'm going to take care of it all, Fanny," I said. "Sure ya are," she said, suddenly turning bitter on me again. "Yer Heaven Leigh Stonewall, the Tatterton Toy Queen. Ya kin take care of everythin'."
"Fanny--"
"I'll see ya at the funeral, Heaven."
I was sitting with the dead receiver in my hand when Logan appeared in the doorway.
"If we hurry, we can catch the next plane out of Boston to Atlanta," he said. "I told Miles to bring up the car."
I ran up to our suite to get what I would need for the funeral. Logan did the same, and in less than twenty minutes we were back in the limo heading toward the airport in Boston.
How fragile, quick, and unpredictable life is, I thought. One moment we were all happy and silly, and the next we were in mourning, saddened and distraught. "Life is jist like the seasons, chile," Granny once told me. "It's got its springs and its summas and ya got ta cherish every moment of the spring when
it comes ta ya, cuz nothin' stays fresh and young and pretty foreva, chile, nothin'. The frost gets inta people, jist like it gets inta the ground."
The frost had gotten into me. I felt cold and empty--even now that I was filled with a new life! I shuddered, curled up against Logan, and slept most of the way to the airport and most of the way on the plane. By the time we arrived in Atlanta and got to Luke's house, it was dawn. Even so, Mrs. Cotton was waiting up for us.
She was a tall, stout woman with large, almost manly features. She looked like someone who had done hard manual labor most of her life, a woman aged beyond her years by her hardships. She had dull brown eyes and coarse, dark pink, full lips. She had an old coverlet draped around her shoulders when she came to the door.
"I'm Heaven Stonewall and this is my husband, Logan," I said. She nodded and stepped back. "We came as soon as we could. Mr. Casteel was my . . . my father," I said, thinking that was the easiest way to explain things.
"I know," she said. "Mr. Steine called to tell me all about you. There's a guest room you can use. It's right past the kitchen on the right."
"How's Drake?" I asked.
"He's asleep. Doesn't know nothin' yet," she said. "I didn't think it was necessary to wake him to tell him the ghastryews. He'd be too tired to
understand anyway."
"You did the right thing," I said. She didn't seem to need my approval though. She shrugged and started away.
"I gotta get some sleep myself," she said. "The boy gets up very early."
"Oh, look after him," I told her.
"Suit yourself."
"In fact," I said, liking her less and less, "you can leave as soon as you want tomorrow. Just let me know what Luke owes you and--"
"That's all been taken care of."
"Oh?"
"By Mr. Steine," she said. "I'll leave sometime in the afternoon. Got someone pickin' me up."
"Okay." She wasn't wasting any time, I thought. "Right past the kitchen," she said again and went off to her own quarters.
"Sweet soul," Logan said, shaking his head.