Fallen Hearts

  "It's not as big as Farthy," Drake said when we came to a stop.

  Logan frowned. "No, Drake. Hardly anything is, but this is still big. You'll see."

  When we drove up, Mr. Appleberry, the gardener Logan had kept on, came out front to greet us and help with the luggage. He was a small but stocky man whose gray hair grew in small patches over a partially bald head that was covered with the same freckles he had scattered over his forehead and temples. He had a warm face with smiling eyes. Santa Claus eyes, I thought. If he had a beard and a full head of hair, he could play Santa. As long as the red suit was stuffed, of course.

  Drake took to him and he took to Drake almost instantly.

  "I'll help with all that, Mrs. Stonewall," he said. "That is, me and the young gentleman here. My name's Appleberry," he said, extending his longfingered hand, the hand of a man who worked with plants and trees and flowers. "And you are?"

  Drake nearly laughed, something he hadn't done much of since I had taken him from Atlanta.

  "I'm Drake," he said. Appleberry took hold of his hand and shook it vigorously.

  "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Drake. You want to take this one?" He handed Drake a small cloth bag and Drake seized it, holding it up against his body with both hands and looking up at me with pride in his eyes.

  "Fine. Strong young man," Appleberry said, winking at me.

  "Thank you, Mr. Appleberry," I said and we all headed into the house, Logan and Appleberry carting most of our luggage in. I took Drake and one of his suitcases directly to his bedroom.

  "Tomorrow you'll start to explore this house, Drake," I said. "It's already getting late and you're tired from our trip. Okay?"

  "Very wise move, Mr. Drake," Appleberry said, bringing in the rest of Drake's things. "A good rest makes for a good day. I'll bid you good night, but I'll be around after you've had your breakfast. We've got some leaves to rake, if you are up to it."

  Drake looked at me and then at Appleberry. I could see by the look on his face that he was wondering if I would go along with his actually doing real labor. I smiled. Then he nodded quickly.

  "Fine, then," Appleberry said and left. I led Drake into the bathroom and washed and dressed him for bed. I heard Logan out in the hall bringing up my luggage and some of his things I had packed and taken from Farthy.

  Drake's bed was a wide double with a light oak headboard. The mattress felt hard and new and the quilts were minty fresh and crisp. From what I could see from my quick pass through the house, it had been left in immaculate condition.

  After I knelt down and kissed Drake good night, I felt sorry for him, ripped out of one family and home, taken to another, and then spirited away from that one. Once again he was put to bed in strange surroundings, the toy fire engine beside him, his only tie with his immediate past.

  "This is the end of your confused journey, dear, dear Drake," I whispered. "I promise you, this will be your home. It's only right that you be close to the land of your father's roots, even if you will be living a far, far better life than he or any of his relations ever did."

  It occurred to me that I could take him into the Willies one day and show him his grandmother's and grandfather's graves. He would see the cabin, even if it was now a modern hunting lodge, and play on the grounds Tom and Keith had played on. Luke probably would never have brought him back here, I thought.

  For all I knew, he would have made up stories about his past to hide it from his son.

  I left his room and went directly to the master bedroom to tell Logan all. My heart was pounding, for there was so much I had kept from him that I would now have to explain. Shame upon shame that even he hadn't known. How I hated Tony Tatterton for putting me through this.

  Logan was nervously pacing the room, and he stopped when I entered. "Well," he said, "let's hear it. All of it."

  I took a deep breath and began by describing what Tony had done to keep Luke away from me, the agreement I discovered in his file cabinet and what he had said when I had confronted him with the information. Logan sat on the chair by the vanity table listening as I paced about and talked. His face was filled with concern, but he said nothing until I paused and sat on the bed.

  "Well," he said, "it was wrong, a terrible thing to do. I can understand your anger, but I believe what Tony told you was the truth. I believe he was lonely and afraid of losing you. I can understand his fears."

  I couldn't believe that Logan's first reaction was to feel sympathy and pity for Tony. Here I was expecting him to rise quickly from his chair and embrace me, to hold me close to him, and to comfort me for the pain I must have suffered when I learned Tony had bought off the man whose fatherly love I had so longed for. I wanted him to kiss me and stroke my hair and express his anger at Tony for what he had done to me. I craved for Logan to bye me the way he had loved me when I was a nobody, a nothing living in a shack in the Willies. I looked for him to do something that would bring back the flood of memories of how sweet our youth had been because we had had each other.

  Instead, he sat there trying to be calm and cool and understanding of another man's cruel and selfish behavior. Oh, I was so angry. My face flushed so red that even Logan looked frightened.

  Of course, I understood that he had formed a relationship with Tony that bordered on idolizing him. Tony had made him feel important and rich and powerful. He thought the world of Tony and his business sense, and it was hard for him to suddenly see Tony as a weak, selfish little man. I knew, too, I hadn't told Logan the whole truth, the whole frightening and shameful truth.

  "I haven't told you all of it," I said. "And when I do, we'll see if you are as understanding."

  "There's more?"

  "Yes, there's more . . ." I took a deep breath. "More reason for me to have left Farthy. Last night, after Tony and I had our argument and I told him I would leave, he came to our suite. He was drunk and half undressed."

  "What did he want?" He nearly cringed in anticipation.

  "What he wanted," I said slowly, deliberately, "was to make love to me. I had to fight him off and slap him across the face to bring him to his senses."

  For a long moment Logan said nothing. It was as if he hadn't heard what I had just said. Then he sat back like a tired, defeated man, his chin nearly touching his chest, and he shook his head slowly.

  "Oh, my God, oh, my God," he whispered. "I . . . I should have . . . have suspected as much."

  "Suspected? What do you mean? You knew something but said nothing to me?"

  "It wasn't something I knew; it was something I thought I sensed. What was I going to say? Beware of your grandfather--"

  "Logan," I said, tears rolling down my cheeks, "Tony is my . . . my father."

  "He's what?!"

  "My father, Logan. I found out a few years ago, and I never told you because I was so ashamed." The words came pouring out of me. There was so much to tell him, I was heedless to whether or not he would understand. "He raped my mother. That's why she ran away. Oh, don't you see? He's evil, Logan, Tony is evil. He tried to do the same thing to me." Then the sobs came and muffled my voice.

  "Oh, Heaven, poor Heaven," Logan said, rising and coming to me to embrace me. "How you have suffered." He held me closely to him and kissed my forehead over and over again. "Oh, Heaven, I am so sorry. Now, I'm sorry." He shook his head and looked down again.

  "Is that all you can say about it? You're sorry?"

  He looked up sharply. "No. It sickens me. I want to get right on a plane and go back to Farthy. I want to have it out with Tony and make him understand what he is and what he's done. Even if it means wringing his neck," he added, his eyes flashing. This was more of the reaction I had expected and wanted, even if I didn't want him to carry out his threats. At least I felt certain that Logan cared more for me than he did for his new business ventures and newly found wealth and power.

  "No," I said. "I don't want you to do that. It's not necessary now. I left him a broken, sick man, surrounded by his- guilt and his sad memories
. We'll cut him off from our lives. He will be exactly what he is . . a business partner and nothing more. Never again will I think of him as my father, nor should you think of him as your father-in-law. I'm turning away from that part of my life, closing the curtain on that drama."

  Logan kept holding me tight, stroking my hair, and gazing tenderly in my eyes. "Logan, we can build our lives here, far away from Farthy and the past. Forget about the factory, forget everything that has anything to do with Tony Tatterton. We can build Stonewall pharmacies into a wonderful empire, all by ourselves. We'll have our baby soon and Drake will be just like your son."

  "Heaven," Logan said, letting go of me and sitting up, "I despise Tony more than you can imagine for what he tried to do but--but it's crucial that my personal feelings be laid aside for a time."

  "Logan, I don't understand. We can't have that man in our lives anymore!"

  "We may not want Tony in our lives, but what about the people of Winnerow, what about the people in the Willies? Without the factory, Heaven, all their hopes will die. And," he said, rising to his feet and nervously pacing back and forth, "and without Tony the factory will die."

  "What are you saying, Logan?"

  "I'm saying, Heaven, without Tony's capital all our dreams are over. Everybody's dreams are over."

  "Logan, I thought you would protect me--"

  "I'll handle everything, Heaven. Tony isn't the only one who can play at manipulation." He sat down again, and put his hands gently on my shoulders.

  "I know," he said, "that I haven't been what you had hoped I would be. I know I have let you down in many ways, not the least being not paying enough attention to you and our marriage. But that's all going to change now. I swear it. work hard, but the work will always be second to our love and marriage and our family." He patted me gently on the stomach. "Our growing family," he added, smiling. "We'll be together all the time. No more separations, Heaven. I'll make you happy forever, darling. I promise."

  "And you must always love and be kind to Drake," I added, fearful that Logan hadn't mentioned him. "He must not be made to suffer for the sins of his father and the sins of other adults."

  "He'll be like my own son. I promise." He held up his hand as if to take an oath.

  "Oh, Logan." I held him tightly, pressing my cheek against his shoulder. He kissed me again and again and stroked my hair softly. My tears felt like warm raindrops. He scooped me up and brought me to our bed, where he kissed me and comforted me until we both grew tired enough to sleep. I fell asleep nestled in his arms, feeling as secure and as protected as a bear cub, and I was no longer afraid of the morning and the new life to come.

  The days that followed were truly days of beginning a new life. I was busy almost every moment, relieved that time passed so quickly, that every hour was filled with something important to do and not something trivial merely to fill the time. Two days after we arrived, I brought Drake to the school. Technically, he was a week and a half shy of the cutoff date for starting the first grade, but Mr. Meeks was more than eager to make an exception. How different he was from the principal I had known as a student and as a first-year teacher. It was almost as if he had never met me before.

  Within ten minutes Drake was enrolled in the first grade.

  "No problem. No problem at all, Mrs. Stonewall," Mr. Meeks repeated when I told him why I was here. "Whenever a child is precocious, we make exception; and, from looking at Drake, I can tell immediately that he is a precocious young man. I'll see to it."

  I couldn't help feeling amused at the change in Mr. Meeks. It was true that exceptions were made, but they were made on the basis of testing, and not on the principal's opinion based only upon his visual observation. Mr. Meeks called in his secretary and had her begin the procedures. Afterward, he escorted me around the school so I could say hello to some of my old colleagues. He then walked me out to the parking lot and opened my car door.

  "And tell Mr. Stonewall," he said, "that Mrs. Meeks and myself will be more than happy to attend the opening festivities at the factory."

  "Thank you," I said, marveling to myself all the way home. Logan had become quite a manipulator.

  I returned to the Hasbrouck House to greet Mrs. Avery, the fifty-year-old woman who had been Anthony Hasbrouck's maid for over twenty years. I thought she had a kind, soft face and saw no reason not to keep her on. Logan had an employment agency send over a candidate to be our butler, Gerald Wilson. He was a tall, graying man in his late fifties, a little stiff and formal, reminding me of Curtis, but I saw no reason not to hire him. The next day our cook arrived. I couldn't help but think that Logan was modeling all his employees after Tony's employees, for the cook was a black man, who I was sure was much older than he claimed to be. His name was Roland Star and he had teeth as white as piano keys and a laugh that was musical.

  After our house was staffed, I went to an interior decorator and began planning some changes for the dining room, the sitting room, the guest room, and our bedroom. The nursery was nearly completed and there was nothing I wanted to change in the kitchen. All the things I had bought in Boston had arrived, and within two weeks my new home, my first real home, was complete.

  As I walked from room to room that day, surveying all I had created, all I felt I had earned by my suffering, I realized there was still one remnant of the past lingering to be changed. After I dropped Drake off at school that day, I proceeded directly to the local beauty parlor, run by none other than Maisie Setterton, She looked shocked to see me there, but soon enough she had rearranged her attitude to one of fawning attention.

  "Why, Heaven," she drawled. "I'm so flattered you'd come to my beauty parlor, what with all your newfound wealth. You'd really let a country girl like me do your hair?"

  "I want to go back to my natural color, Maisie," I said, cutting her off. "And this is the only beauty parlor in town." That silenced her, and she didn't speak again while she set about mixing and brushing and coloring my hair. I left two hours later--looking very much like the old Heaven Leigh Casteel, now Heaven Leigh Stonewall. Yes, when the people of Winnerow saw me now, they would have to remember that poor scum-of-the-hills girl they had looked down upon, and realize that it was she who was revitalizing their town. I no longer wanted to look like a Tatterton. Like Luke's Angel. Like Tony's Leigh. The wrong man had seen her in me. For it wasn't Pa's love I had won by dying my hair to look like her, but Tony's lust. Now that, too, I would put behind me. I would be just who I was, and I would never be ashamed of that again. Pride straigthened my spine as I ran my errands in Winnerow and noticed the eyes that followed my passage.

  I went to the factory site that day to see the finishing touches that were being made. Logan was shocked when he beheld me.

  "Heaven," he breathed. "You dyed your hair back."

  "Yes, Logan." I smiled. "Now all traces of Tatterton are gone and I am pure one hundred percent Stonewall forever more."

  "And more beautiful than ever." He kissed me passionately on the lips. "This is the woman I've always loved. Thank you, Heaven."

  He took me on a tour of the factory, explaining and showing me the smallest details. He made me feel like a queen visiting one of her colonies. As we walked down the hallways and in and out of rooms, the various laborers stopped what they were doing to greet me. Logan led me about, even showing me the men's room. His enthusiasm was contagious, for I found myself growing very excited about all of it. The only part that brought some sadness to my heart was when he introduced me to the ten artisans he had hired to begin making the Willies toys. Two of them were at least as old as Grandpa was when he died.

  Toward the end of the month, documents and information concerning Luke's estate and Drake's trust fund began arriving from J. Arthur Steine. Apparently he had conferred with Tony, and Tony had told him to go ahead and do whatever I wanted done. The circus and the house were sold rather quickly, which J. Arthur Steine didn't hesitate to brag about.

  The first night Roland Star was at the Hasbrou
ck House to cook a meal, Logan invited his parents. I was amused by the changes in Loretta Stonewall, especially in the way she now treated me. She had prepared for this evening as though she were attending a dinner at the governor's mansion. She had her gray hair penned, her nails done, and had bought an expensive dress. She wore her fur coat and her most expensive diamond necklace and earrings. Logan's father looked troubled and embarrassed by his wife's extravagance. I could almost hear their argument about it--after all, they were only going to their son's home for dinner. Yes, but what a home and what a dinner!

  I was quite underdressed in comparison, but Logan's mother didn't seem to notice or care. She was too intimidated even to mention the change in my hair color, but she was extravagant with her compliments of everything I had changed in the house. Suddenly, almost overnight, she had become my mother-in-law in more than mere name.

  "You must never be afraid to call me, even for the slightest thing, as your pregnancy develops, Heaven. Why, when I was four months along, I was big as a house. But you look slender and beautiful as ever, Heaven. How do you do it? Are you tired? You know, I'd be more than happy to do all that I can to help with little Drake. What a darling little boy." She reached out to pat him on the head, but Drake would have none of that. He shifted his body out of reach. "Anyway, I insist you all come to my house for dinner the night after the factory affair. I know you will all be so tired."

  "Thank you, Loretta," I said.

  "Oh, please, please, Heaven, honey," she said, reaching across the table to place her hand softly over mine, "call me Mother."

  I stared at her for a moment. How many women had I called Mother in my life? One I never knew, one who had been an overworked drudge, one who had resented me, and now one who was so infatuated with her new standing in the community she wanted me the way someone would want an expensive and impressive jewel. She wanted to wear me about her to impress her friends. But I was too tired to resent her for it. I could even understand her excitement, and if money and power had finally made me welcome in her home and in her life, why hate her for it? My husband was happy; my children would be loved, and I would at last have a real family.