Casteel 1 - Heaven (18 page)

“And,” the lawyer went on, “you hereby grant to us”pointing to his name, and where his wife had signed"the right to make all decisions considering the future of your two children, named Keith Mark Casteel and Jane Ellen Casteel, and if you seek to legally or illegally take them from me and from my wife, there will be a suit for which you will have to pay all court and attorney fees, and all the expenses accrued by the children while they are in our care, and of course there will be various other expenses, such as medical and dental ones, for we intend to take both children as soon as possible to doctors for physicals and dental checkups, and we will be sending them to school, and buying them new clothes, and books, and

toys, and the proper furniture for their rooms. And there will be various other items I'm forgetting about now . . ."

Oh, my God.

Pa would never have enough money to buy them back! Not in a thousand years!

“I understand completely,” said Pa, appearing not in the least troubled. “That's one of the reasons I'm doing what I am. Our Jane needs medical attention, and perhaps Keith does as well. So even if my eldest girl is emotional, she did speak truthfully, so you know exactly what you are getting.”

“A dear, a sweet little dear who will turn out just fine,” crooned the fat lady, who held fast to Our Jane's frail arm to prevent her from pulling away and running back to me. “A wonderful little boy,” she added, patting Keith on the head, for he stood as always, as close to Our Jane as possible, his hand holding hers. If she didn't escape, he wouldn't either.

I was crying now. I was losing the brother and sister I'd helped raise. All the memories of how they'd looked and behaved as babies and little toddlers came flooding back, filling me with fresh tears. Visions flashed behind my eyes: All of us on the hills teaching Our Jane to walk, and how cute she'd looked on her

bowed legs and baby toes, her arms out for balance. Tom and I guiding Keith's first toddling steps as well. My voice instructing them how to speak clearly, correctly, and Fanny always so jealous because they loved me best, and Tom second best.

I'd gone numb now, held frozen by the forbidding glance Pa threw my way, warning me not to speak again as he pocketed more money than he'd ever had before in his life.

One thousand dollars. Excitement made his dark eyes glow like hot

coals.

“Fanny, it's beginning to rain,” said Pa, showing concern for those two in their rich, warm clothes when he'd shown none for us. “Fetch that ole umbrelly we got somewhere so the lady won't ruin her nice hairdo.”

Pa scooped up Keith and Our Jane and ordered them to stop screaming, and I ran for a quilt to wrap them with.

I dashed back, carrying the best quilt we had, hand-​sewn years ago by Granny. “They don't have coats, hats, boots, or anything,” I said to the lady urgently. "Please be good to themgive them lots of orange juice and other fruit. And meat, especially red

meat. We've never had enough meat, even chicken and pork. Our Jane loves fruit and won't eat much of anything else. But Keith has a good appetite, even if he does catch cold often, and they both have nightmares, so leave on a little light so the dark won't frighten them . ."

“Shut up,” hissed Pa again.

“Why, child, I'll be good to your brother and sister,” the lady said kindly, touching my cheek lightly and appearing sorry for me. “Aren't you a dear one, just like a little mother. Now, don't you worry yourself about these two. I'm not a cruel woman, nor is my husband a cruel man. We're going to be kind, give them all new clothes, and Christmas morning is waiting for them at our house, everything their hearts can desire. We didn't know if we'd take the boy or the girl, so we bought things both sexes can use . o . a rocking horse, a tricycle, a dollhouse, lots of trucks, cars, and clothes ... not enough for two, but they can share until we go shopping again. We'll do that tomorrow, buy everything they can possibly need. So you feel good about this, honey. Don't cry. Don't worry. We'll do our best to make wonderful parents, won't we, Lester?”

“Yes,” Lester said shortly, eager to leave. "Let's

get a move on, dear. It's growing late, and we have a long drive ahead."

Now Pa handed the woman Our Jane, and the man carried Keith, who had given up fighting and was now only screaming, as was Our Jane.

“Hey-​lee ... Hey-​lee!” sobbed Our Jane, stretching out her slender arms toward me. “Don't wanna go, don't wanna . .”

"Hurry, Lester. I can't bear to see this child

cry."

Out the door in a hurry went the two carrying the screaming children, with Pa running in servile attendance, holding the torn old umbrella over the head of the lady and Our Jane.

I sank to the floor and sobbed.

Tom ran to a window, and despite my will not to look, I jumped up and hurried to stand beside him, and then Fanny was crouched down on her knees, staring out and saying: “Wish they'd chosen me. Oh, holy Jesus on the cross, I wish I could have all that stuff on Christmas morning! Why didn't they want me instead of Our Jane, who cries all t'time? An Keith ain't much better, an he wets t'bed. Why didn't ya tell em that, Heaven, why didn't ya?”

I wiped away tears and tried to gain control of

my emotions. I tried to tell myself it wasn't so bad, not really, to lose Our Jane and Keith if they were to have so many fine thingsoranges to eat, and toys to play withand a doctor to make Our Jane well.

Then I was flying toward the door and the porch so I could call out breathlessly, just as the black car prepared to drive off, “And be sure to send them both to good schoolsplease!”

The lady rolled down a window and waved. “Please don't worry, darling,” she called. “I'll write you from time to time and let you know how they are, but there won't be a return address. And I'll send you photographs.” And up went the window again, smothering Our Jane's loud, anguished wails, and those of Keith.

Pa didn't even bother to enter the cabin again to find out what his children thought about the “Christmas gift” he'd just given.

He ran, as if from me and my accusing eyes; me and all the angry words I had ready to scream in his face. He jumped into his old truck and drove off, leaving me to think he'd soon throw away his thousand dollars on whores, booze, and gambling. And in bed tonight he wouldn't give one single thought to Our Jane, to Keith, to any of us.

Like a flock of chickens paralyzed by strange events beyond our understanding, we huddled, with Grandpa sitting quietly and whittling as if nothing untoward had happened, and then we met eyes. Soon even Fanny began to cry. She wrapped her arms about me and sobbed. “They'll be all right, won't they? People do love all little children, even those not their own, don't they?”

“Yes, of course they do,” I said, trying to choke back fresh tears and save my anguish for later, when I was alone. “And we'll see them again. If the lady writes long letters we'll hear how they are, and one day Our Jane and Keith can write themselves, and won't that be wonderful . . . won't it be . . . wonderful.” I broke anew, tears flooding down my face before I could manage to ask a very important question. “Tom, did you notice their license plates?”

“Sure did,” he answered in a gruff, hoarse voice. “Maryland. But I didn't have time to catch the last three numbers. First were nine-​seven-​two. Remember that.” Tom always noticed things like that. I never did.

Now the little ones I'd worried about were gone. No wailing in the night and in the morning. No wet beds and quilts, not so much washing to do,

plenty of room in the brass bed now. How empty the small cabin, how sad all the

hours, minutes, and seconds after Our Jane and Keith went away. And maybe in the long run they would be better offespecially since those people appeared so richbut what about us? Love, wasn't that worth anything? Wasn't blood the tie that bound, not money?

“Grandpa,” I said in my constantly hoarse voice, “we got room for you in the bed now.”

“Not proper or healthy t'put t'old in with t'young,”

Grandpa mumbled again and again, his gnarled hands quivering as if with some ancient ague. His faded old eyes pleaded with me to understand. “Luke's a good boy, chile, he is. He meant well. Though ya don't know it. He wanted t'help, that's all. Now, don't ya go thinkin bad about yer pa, when he did all he knew what t'do.”

"Grandpa, you'd say good things about him no matter what he did, cause he's your son, the only one you've got left. But from this day forward, he's not my father! I'm not calling him Pa from now on. He's Luke Casteel, an ugly, mean liar, and someday he's going to pay for all the suffering he's put us through! I hate

him, Grandpa, hate his guts! Hate him so much I feel sick inside!"

His poor old withered face went dead white, when already it was pale and sickly, crosshatched with a million wrinkles, and he really wasn't that old. “T'Good Book says t'honor thy motha an thy fatha . . . ya remember that, Heaven girl.”

“Why doesn't the Good Book say honor thy children, Grandpa, why doesn't it?”

Another storm blew in, and turned into a blizzard. Snow banked as high as the top of our windows, covering the porch. Ice sheeting prevented us from looking through the wavy cheap glass even when Tom went out to shovel some of the snow away. Luckily, Pa had brought enough food to see us through another few days.

Heartbreak ruled the cabin without the cheerful chirping of Our Jane and the sweet quiet of Keith. I forgot all about the trouble Our Jane had been, forgot the plaintive wails, the tempestuous stomach that was so difficult to please. I remembered only the tender young body, the sweetness of the back of her neck where her curls turned damp when she slept. Two angels they'd appeared when they cuddled in the bed and closed their eyes; I remembered Keith and how he

liked to be rocked to sleep, wanting to hear bedtime stories I'd read a thousand times or more. I remem- bered his sweet good-​night kisses, his strong legs; I heard his small voice saying his prayers, saw him next to Our Jane, both on their knees, their small feet bare, pink toes curled; they never had the proper kind of pretty nightclothes. I sobbed, felt sicker, meaner, an- grier, and everything I remembered formed steel bul- lets that sooner or later would gun down the man who'd taken so much from me.

Poor Grandpa forgot how to talk. Now he was as silent as he'd been when Granny was alive, and he didn't whittle, didn't fiddle, only stared into space and rocked to, fro, to, fro. Once in a great while he'd mumble some prayer that was never answered.

We all said prayers that were never answered.

In my sleep I dreamed of Our Jane and Keith waking up to a fantasy of what I believed the merriest of all Christmas mornings. I saw them in pretty red flannel nightclothes playing in an elegant living room where a magnificent Christmas tree spread over all the new toys and new clothes underneath. Laughing with the silent merriment of dreams, my youngest brother and sister raced about ripping open all their gifts, riding in miniature cars, Our Jane small enough to

crawl inside the dollhouse; and long colorful stockings were full of oranges, apples, candy and chewing gum, and boxes of cookies; and finally came a meal served on a long table with a white tablecloth, sparkling with crystal and gleaming with silver. A huge golden-​brown turkey arrived on a silver platter, surrounded by all the things we'd eaten that time in the restaurant, and there was pumpkin pie straight from one of the glossy magazines

I'd seen. Oh, the things my dreams gave to Our Jane and Keith.

Without Keith and Our Jane to distract me, I heard more from Fanny, who continually grouched about not being the child chosen to go with those rich people in their fine clothes and long car.

“It coulda been me an not Our Jane that rich lady wanted,” she said for the hundredth time, “if I'd have had time t'wash my hair an take a bath. Ya used all t'hot wata on them, Heaven! Selfish, ya are! Them rich folks didn't like me cause I looked messywhy didn't Pa tell us t'get ready?”

“Fanny!” I exclaimed, quite out of patience. “What's wrong with you? To go away with strangers you don't even know. Why, only God above knows what will happen to” And then I broke and started

to cry.

Tom came to comfort me. “It's gonna be all right. They truly did look rich and nice. A lawyer has to be intelligent. And think of this, wouldn't it have been terrible if Pa had sold them to folks as poor as we are?”

As was to be expected, Grandpa took his son's side. “Luke only does what he thinks is bestand ya hold yer tongue, girl, when next ya see him, or he might do somethin awful t'ya. This ain't no fittin' place fer kids nohow. Betta off they'll be. Stop cryin, an accept what can't be changed. That's what life is about, standing firm against t'wind.”

I should have known that Grandpa, like Granny, wouldn't be any help when it came to Pa. Always she'd had excuses to explain her son's brutal behavior. A good manat heart. Underneath all that cruelty, a frustrated gentleman who couldn't find the right way.

A monster only a parent could love, was my opinion.

I stood as far as I could from the old man who disappointed me in so many ways. Why couldn't Grandpa be stronger and stand up for all our rights?

Why didn't he open his silent mouth and put his

tongue to good use? Why did all his thoughts come out in the form of charming little wooden figures? He could have told his son he couldn't sell his children. But he hadn't said a word, not a word.

How bitter I felt to think my grandfather went to church every Sunday he could, to sing and stand up and say prayers with bowed head, and then he came back to a home where small children were whipped, starved, brutalized, and then sold.

“We'll run away,” I whispered to Tom when Fanny was asleep and Grandpa was in his pallet. “When the snow melts, before Pa comes back again, we'll put on all our clothes and run to Miss Deale. She must be back from Baltimore by now. She has to be. She'll tell us what to do, and how to get back Our Jane and Keith.”

Yes, Miss Deale would know, if anyone did, just how to thwart Pa and keep him from selling us all to strangers. Miss Deale knew a thousand things that Pa would never know; she had connections.