Casteel 1 - Heaven (7 page)

“Yeah,” muttered Sarah, turning the wash over to me, “sure would be sayin a lot. Guess I know who's t'one who's t'worst, without yer havin t'tell me. It's my Indian Fanny with her wild devil ways, her flirtin eyes that's gonna get her inta t'same mess I'm in soona or lata. Heaven, ya stick t'yer guns, an say no, NO, NO! . . . Now take off that dress, an get t'work on t'wash. Ain't feelin so good lately. Jus don't understand why I'm tired all t'time.”

“Maybe you should see a doctor, Ma.” “Will, when they got free ones.”

I finished the wash, and with Tom's willing help hung the clothes up to dry. When we finished it looked like a yard rag sale. “Ya like Logan Stonewall?” asked Tom.

“Yes, I think so . . .” I answered, blushing several times.

He looked sad, as if Logan might put a wall of difference between us, when nothing could, not ever.

“Tom, maybe Miss Deale will give you another watercoloring set . . .”

“It doesn't matter. I'm not gonna be an artist. Probably won't end up much of nothing, if you're not there to help me believe in myself.”

“But we're always going to be together, Tom. Didn't we swear to stay together through thick and thin?”

His green eyes looked happier, then shaded. “But that was before Logan Stonewall walked you home.”

“You walk Sally Browne home sometimes, don't you?”

“Once,” he admitted, blushing, as if he didn't know I knew about that, “but only because she's something like you are, not silly and giggly.”

I didn't know what to say then. Sometimes I

wished to be like the other girls, full of silly laughter about nothing at all, and not always so burdened down with responsibilities that made me feel older than my years.

Later that same night I gave Fanny a good scolding about her behavior and the consequences. She didn't have to explain again. Already she'd confessed to me, on a rare occasion when we were like sisters needing each other, that she hated school and the time it took from having fun with the other girls her age. Even at the tender age of not quite twelve, she wanted to make out with much older boys who might have ignored her but for her insistence. She liked the boys to undress her, to slip their hands into her panties and start those exciting sensations only they could give her. It had distressed me to hear her say that, and distressed me even more to witness how she acted in the cloakroom with boys.

“Won't do it no more, really I won't let them,” promised Fanny, who was sleepy and agreeable to any suggestion, even an order from me to stop.

The very next day, despite Fanny's vow, it happened all over again when I went to Fanny's class to pick her up and head her back home. I forced my way into the cloakroom and tore Fanny away from a

pimply-​faced valley boy. “Yer sister ain't stuck-​up and prissy like ya!”

the boy hissed. And all the time I could hear Fanny giggling. “Ya leave me alone!” Fanny screamed as I

dragged her away. “Pa treats ya like yer invisible, so naturally ya kin't know how good it feels t'like boys and men, and if ya keep on pesterin me not t'do this an not t'do that, I'm gonna let em do anythin they want an I won't give a damn if ya tell Pa. He loves me an hates ya anyway!”

That stung, and if Fanny hadn't come running to throw her slender arms about my neck, crying and pleading for my forgiveness, I might have forever turned my back on such a hateful, insensitive sister. “I'm sorry, Heaven, really sorry. I love ya, I do, I do. I just like what they do. Kin't help it, Heaven. Don't want t'help it. Ain't it natural, Heaven, ain't it?”

“Yer sister Fanny is gonna be a whore,” said Sarah later, her voice dull and without hope as she pulled bed pallets from boxes for us to put on the floor. “Ya kin't do nothin bout Fanny, Heaven. Ya jus look out fer yerself.”

. Pa came home only three or four times a week,

as if timing how long our food would last, and he'd come in bringing as much as he could afford to buy at one time. Just last week I'd heard Granny telling Sarah that Grandpa had taken Pa out of school when he was only eleven in order to put him to work in the coal minesand Pa had hated that so much he'd run away and hadn't come back until Grandpa found him hiding out in a cave. “And Toby swore to Luke he'd neva have t'go down inta them mines agin, but he sure would make more money iffen he did once in a while . . .”

“Don't want him down there,” Sarah said dully. “Ain't right t'make a man do somethin he hates. Even iffen t'Feds catch him soona or lata peddlin moonshine, he'd die fore he'd let em lock him up. Ratha see him dead than shut up like his brothas . . .”

It made me look at the coal miners differently than I had before.

Many of them lived beyond Winnerrow, scattered a bit higher on the hills, but not really in the mountains like we were. Often at night when the wind was still, I'd lie awake and think I could hear the pickaxes of those dead miners who'd been trapped underground, all trying to dig their way out of the very mountain that was topped by our own cabin.

“Can you hear them, Tom?” I asked the night when Sarah went to bed crying because Pa hadn't been home in five days. “Chop, chop, chop . . . don't you hear em?”

Tom sat up and looked around. “Don't hear nothin.”

But I did. Faint and far away, chop chop chop. Even fainter, help help help! I got up and went out to the porch, and the sound was louder. I shivered, then called to Tom. Together we drifted to where the sound came fromand there was Pa in the moonlight, shirt- less and sweaty, swinging an ax to fell another tree so we could have firewood, come this winter.

For the first time in my life I looked at him with a kind of wondering pity. Help help help echoed in my brainhad it been him crying out, had it been? What kind of man was he anyway, that he would come in the night to chop wood without even stopping in the cabin to say hello to his wife and children?

“Pa,” called out Tom, “I kin help ya do that.”

Pa didn't pause in his swing that sent wood chips flying, just yelled: "Go back and get your rest, boy. Tell your ma I've got a new job that keeps me busy all day, and the only spare time I have is at night, and that's why I'm chopping down trees for you to

split into logs later on." He didn't say a word to indicate he saw me beside Tom.

“What kind of job have ya got now, Pa?”

“Workin on a railroad, boy. Learnin how t'drive one of them big engines. Pulling coal on the C and 0. . . come down t'the tracks tomorrow about seven and you'll see me pull out . . .”

“Ma sure would like t'see ya, Pa.”

I thought he paused then, the ax hesitating before it slammed again into the pine. “She'll see me . . . when she sees me.” And that was all he said before I turned and ran back to the cabin.

On my coarse pillow stuffed with chicken feathers I cried. Didn't know why I cried, except all of a sudden I was sorry for Paand even sorrier for Sarah.

SARAH

.

ANOTHER CHRISTMAS CAME AND WENT WITHOUT REAL gifts to make it memorable. We were given only small necessities like toothbrushes and soap. If Logan hadn't given me a gold bracelet set with a small sapphire I wouldn't even have remembered that Christmas. I had nothing to give - him but a cap I'd knitted.

“It's a terrific cap,” he said, pulling it down over his head. “I've always wanted a bright red hand- knitted cap. Thank you very much, Heaven Leigh. Sure would be nice if you'd knit me a red scarf for my birthday that's coming up in March.”

It surprised me that he wore the cap. It was much too large, and he didn't seem to notice that I'd dropped a couple of stitches and that the wool had been handled so much it was more than a bit soiled. No sooner was Christmas over than I started on the scarf. I had it finished by Valentine's Day. “It's too late for a red scarf in March,” I said with a smile when he wrapped it around his neckand he was still wearing that red cap to school every day. If anything could have made me like him more than his devotion

to that awful red cap, I don't know what it would have been.

I turned fourteen in late February. Logan gave me another gift, a lovely white sweater set that made Fanny's dark eyes blaze with envy. The day after my birthday Logan met me after school where the moun- tain trail ended; he walked me to the clearing before the cabin, and every day after until it was spring. Keith and Our Jane learned to love and trust him, and all the time Fanny plied her charms, but Logan continued to ignore her. Oh, falling in love at age fourteen was so exhilarating I could have laughed and cried at the same time, I was so happy.

The glorious spring days sailed too quickly by now that love was in the air, and I wanted time for romancing, but Granny and Sarah were relentless in their demands for my time. There was planting to do as well as all the other chores that were my duty, but not Fanny's. Without the large garden in the back of our cabin we wouldn't have been as well nourished as we were. We had cabbages, potatoes, cucumbers, carrots, collards for the fall, and turnip greens, and, best of all, tomatoes.

On Sundays I looked forward to seeing Logan again in church. When we were in church and he was

seated across the aisle from me, meeting and holding my eyes and sending so many silent messages, how could I help but forget the desperate poverty of our lives? Logan shared so much of what was in his father's pharmacy with us; small things he thought commonplace filled all of us with delight, like shampoo in a bottle, perfume we could spray on, and a razor and blades for Tom, who began to grow more than auburn fuzz over his lip.

One Sunday afternoon we planned to go fishing after church, though Logan didn't tell his parents who he was chumming with. I could tell from their stony faces when we occasionally met on the streets of Winnerrow that his parents didn't want me, or any Casteel, in their son's life. What they wanted didn't seem to matter nearly as much to Logan as it did to me. I wanted them to like me, and yet they always managed, somehow, to avoid the introductions Logan wanted to make.

I was thinking about Logan's parents as I furtively brushed my hair while Fanny was in the yard tormenting Snapper, Pa's favorite hound. Sarah sat down heavily behind me and pushed back long strands of red hair from her face before she sighed. "I'm really tired. So blessed tired all t'time. An yer

Pa's neva home. When he is he don't even look t'see my condition."

What she said made me start, made me want to look and see what Pa was missing. I whirled around to stare at her, realizing that I very seldom really looked at Sarah, or else I would have seen before this that she was pregnant . . . again.

“Ma!” I cried. “Haven't you told Pa?”

“Iffen he really looked at me, he'd know, wouldn't he?” Iridescent tears of self-​pity formed in her eyes. “Last thin in t'world we need is anotha mouth t'feed. Yet we're gonna have anotha, come fall.”

“What month, Ma, what day?” I cried, unsettled by the thoughts of another baby to take care of, just when Our Jane was finally in school and not quite as troublesome as she'd been, and Lord knows it had been difficult enough with only a year separating her and Keith.

“I don't count days t'tell doctors. Don't see a doctor,” whispered Sarah, as if her strong voice were weakened by the coming baby.

“Ma! You've got to tell me when so I can be here if you need me!”

"I jus hope an pray this one will be black-

haired,“ she mumbled as if to herself. ”T'dark-​eyed boy yer pa's been wantinga boy like him. Oh, God, hear me this time an give t'me an Luke his look-​alike son, an then he will love me, like he loved her."

It made me hurt to think about that. What good did it do for a man to grieve too longif he didand when had he started that baby? Most of the time I could tell what they were doing, and it had been a long time since the bedsprings had creaked in that rhythmical, telling way.

Gravely I told Tom the news while we were on the path to the lake where we would meet Logan to fish. Tom tried to smile, to look happy, and finally managed a weak grin. “Well, since there's nothin we kin do about it, we'll make the best of it, won't we? Maybe it will be the kind of boy that will make Pa a happier man. And that would be nice.”

"Tom, I didn't mean to hurt you by repeating

that."

“I ain't hurt. I know every time he looks at me he wishes I looked more like him than Ma. But as long as you like my looks, I'll be satisfied.”

“Oh, Tom, all the girls think you're devilishly handsome.”

"Ain't it funny how girls always put devilishly

up front to make handsome not quite so meaningful?“ I turned to hug him. ”It's those teasing green

eyes, Tom.“ I bowed my head so my forehead rested on his chest just under his chin. ”I feel so sorry for Ma, all worn out and so big and clumsy-​looking, and you know, up until today, I never even noticed. I feel so ashamed. I could have done so much more to help her."

“Ya do enough already,” Tom mumbled, pulling away when Logan stepped into view. “Now smile, act happy, for boys don't like girls with too many problems.”

All of a sudden Fanny appeared, darting out from the shadows of the trees. She ran straight to Logan and threw herself at him as if she were six instead of a girl of thirteen, already beginning to develop rapidly. Logan was forced to catch her in his arms or be bowled over backward.

“My, yer gettin more handsome by t'day,” crooned Fanny, trying to kiss him, but Logan put her down and shoved her away forcefully, then came over to me. But Fanny was everywhere that day with her loud voice to scare off the fish, with her incessant demands for attention, so the Sunday afternoon that could have been fun was spoiled, until finally around

twilight Fanny took off for parts unknown, leaving Logan, Tom, and me standing with three small fish not worth carrying home. Logan threw them back into the water, and we watched them swim away.

“I'll see ya at the cabin,” said Tom before he darted off, leaving me alone with Logan.

“What's wrong?” asked Logan as I sat staring at the way the setting sun was reflecting all sorts of rosy colors on the lake. I knew soon it would turn crimson as the blood that would spill when Sarah's newest baby came into the world. Memories of other births came fleetingly into the dark crevices of my mind. “Heaven, you're not listening to me.”

I didn't know if I should or should not tell Logan about something so personal, yet it came out voluntarily, as if I couldn't keep anything secret from him. “I'm scared, Logan, not just for Sarah and her baby, but for all of us. Sometimes when I look at Sarah and see how desperate she is, I don't know how long she can put up with her kind of life, and if she goesand she's always talking about leaving Pa then she'll leave behind a new baby for me to take care of. Granny can't do anything much but knit or crochet, or sew braided rugs together.”

"And already you have more than enough to do,

I understand. But, Heaven, don't you know everything always works out? Didn't you hear Reverend Wise's sermon today about the crosses we all have to carry? Didn't he say God never gives us one too heavy?"

That's what he'd said, all right, but right now Sarah was feeling that her cross weighed a ton, and I could hardly blame her.

We walked slowly toward the cabin, reluctant to part. “You're not going to ask me in . . . again?” asked Logan in a stiff way.

“Next time . . maybe.”

He stopped walking. “I'd like to take you home with me, Heaven. I've told my parents how wonderful you are, and how pretty, but they'll have to see you and know you to appreciate the truth of what I've been saying.”

I backed off, sad for him and sad for me, wondering why he didn't let the poverty and shame of the Casteels drive him away. That's when he stepped up very quickly, grabbed me, and gave me a peck on my mouth. I was startled by the feel of his lips, by the way he looked in the strange light of the early evening. “Good night. . . and don't you worry, for I'll be here when you need me.” And with that he was off down the trail, heading for the clean and pretty streets

of Winnerrow, where he'd climb stairs to the apartment over Stonewall's Pharmacy. In bright, cheerful modern rooms with running water and flushing toilets, two of them, he'd watch IV this evening with his parents. I stared at the place where he had disappeared, wondering what it would be like to live in clean rooms, with a color television. Oh, a thousand times better than here, I knew that, just knew that.

If I hadn't been thinking romantically of Logan, and his kiss, I wouldn't have drifted so unaware into the cabinand been so surprised when it exploded all around me.

Pa was home.

He paced the small space of the front room, throwing Sarah glares hard enough to drive knives through her. “Why did you let yourself get pregnant again?” he bellowed, slamming his fist into the palm of his other hand; then he whirled to bang his fists on the nearest wall, causing cups to jump from the shelf nearby and fall to the floor and break. And we had just enough cups, none to spare.

Pa was terrible in his angerfrightening as he whipped around with energy too great to confine in such a small space. "I'm working night and day now

to keep you and your kids going . . .“ he stormed. ”Ya had nothin t'do with em, did ya?" screamed

Sarah, her long red hair loose from the ribbon that usually held it back.

“But I gave you those pills to take!” yelled Pa. “I paid good money for those things, hoping you'd have sense enough to read the directions!”

“I took em! Didn't I tell ya I took em? Took em all, waitin fer ya t'come home, an ya didn'tan when ya did, all t'pills were gone!”

“You mean you took them all at one time?”

She jumped up, started to speak, and then fell back into the chair she'd just left, one of the six hard straight chairs that gave - no one real comfort. “I fergit . . . kept fergittin, so I swallowed all so I wouldn't fergit .”

“Oh, God!” Pa moaned. His dark eyes glared at her with scorn and contempt. “Dumb! And I read the directions to you!” With that he slammed out the door, leaving me to sit on the floor near Tom, who held Keith and Our Jane on his lap. Our Jane had her small face hidden against Tom, crying as she always cried when her parents fought. Fanny was on her bed pallet rolled up in a tight knot, her hands over her ears and her eyes squinched tight. Granny and Grandpa just sat

rocking on and on, staring blankly into space, as if they'd heard all this many times before and they'd hear it many times again in the future. “Luke'll come back and take kerr of ya,” Granny comforted weakly when Sarah continued to cry. “He's a good boy. He'll fergive ya when he sees his new baby.”

Groaning, Sarah got up and began to prepare our last meal of the day. I hurried to assist. “Sit down, Ma, or go and rest on the bed. I can handle this meal by myself.”

“Thank ya, Heaven . . . but I gotta do somethin t'keep from thinkin. An I used t'love him so much. Oh, God, how I used t'love an want Luke Casteel, neva knowin, or guessin, he don't know how t'love anyone betta than himself . . .”

Fanny hissed at me that night, soon after supper was over: “Gonna hate that new baby! We don't need it. Ma's too old t'have babies . . . it's me who needs my own baby.”

“You don't need your own baby!” I flared sharply. “Fanny, you're just brainwashing yourself to think having a baby means you'll be grown-​up and freea baby will tie you down worse than youth, so watch out how you play with your boyfriends.”

"You don't know nothin! It don't happen t'first

time! Yer ten times more a kid than me or else ya'd know what I really mean."

“What do you really mean?”

She sobbed, clutching at me. “Don't know . . jus want so much we don't have it hurts. There's gotta be somethin I kin do t'make my life betta. Don't have no real boyfriend like ya got. They don't love me like Logan loves ya. Heaven, help me, please help me.”

“I will, I will,” I pledged as we clung together, not knowing what I could do but pray.

Hot August days seemed to grow shorter much too fast. The last weeks of Sarah's pregnancy passed more or less painfully for her, and for all of us, even though Pa showed up more often than he had, and he'd stopped yelling and pacing, and seemed resigned to the fact that Sarah might have five or six more kids before she was through.

She clumped heavily around the mountain cabin, her red, callused hands often clasped over the mound that carried her fifth baby, which she was not anticipating with much joy. Mumbled prayers stayed on her lips, or else she bellowed out orders. The sweetness of Sarah at her best seldom showed anymore. Then, worse than anything, the loudmouthed meanness we'd unhappily grown

accustomed to was replaced by an alarming silence. Instead of yelling and screaming abuse at Pa, at

all of us, she just shuffled along, like an old lady, and Sarah wasn't more than twenty-​eight. She hardly glanced at Pa when he came home, not even bothering to ask where he'd been, forgetting about Shirley's Place; forgetting to ask if he was still earning “clean” money, or selling that moonshine which was “dirty” money. Sarah seemed locked up in herself, struggling to make some decision.