Fallen Hearts

  Suddenly I heard my name and turned to see Logan striding across the warm sand, barefoot, with his trousers rolled up--he looked like one of the Kennedys, so confident and handsome.

  "What are you doing, Heaven? I've been searching for you for the past half hour," he called.

  "But Logan, I was looking for you. Where were you this morning?"

  "I was too excited to sleep and I didn't want to wake you. Isn't this wonderful? All this excitement, all this energy. When I went downstairs, Tony was already up and we decided to visit the factory right then and there so I could be back to spend the day with you. Oh, Heaven, it was so great! And the factory. . the main Tatterton Toy Store . . . it's marvelous . . . the way Tony has managed to create a system that maintains the unique style of each Tatterton toy. He has so many good ideas. I want you to hear them; I want you to think about them."

  "Hear them? Think about them? What do you mean, Logan?"

  "Let's go inside," he said. He was so excited he could barely stand still. He led me directly to Tony's office and flung open the door.

  "Tony's a tyrant about his office," I warned him. quickly. "He doesn't like anyone in here unless he is present to invite them in," I said. But Logan didn't move.

  "It's all right. He told me to use his office."

  "He did?" I was flabbergasted. "What is this all about, Logan?" I asked. I was even more surprised when he whirled around Tony's high-back, black leather chair and sat down in it as if it were his own.

  "What are you doing?" I queried.

  He sat back and put his feet up on Tony's antique oak desk, smiling as if he suddenly saw himself to be a big-time business executive.

  "It's all right. Really. Sit down."

  I shook my head in confused amazement and sat on the soft, charcoal leather settee.

  "Now, hear out all I have to say before you speak," he instructed, putting his legs back on the floor and leaning forward on the desk, "and promise to keep an open mind. Do you promise?"

  I knew I was about to hear something I wouldn't like--some scheme of Tony's to control our lives. But I didn't want to burst the bright bubble of Logan's excitement. "And hope to die." I laughed.

  He took a deep breath and then spoke. "Tony has made me an offer and I think we should take it," he said quickly.

  "An offer? What kind of an offer?" I asked suspiciously.

  "You heard him at dinner last night . . . all his plans for the company. Well, he can't do it all himself."

  "He has very competent people working for him," I said. My heart was starting to pound. I could anticipate what was to come.

  "Yes, but _he's very family-oriented. Like he says . . . what's the point in having all this if you haven't a family to share it with?" Logan said, holding his arms out to an imaginary brood.

  "What does this have to do with you? You're a pharmacist, working in your family's store." I saw he was stung by the cold tone in my voice, but I couldn't help how I sounded, nor could I help how I felt. It was in this office that Tony confessed to me he was my father; it was because of what was said in this office that Troy had become my forbidden love. It seemed to me that Tony was reaching out again, interfering, changing things, trying to control my life.

  "I know what I am. The point is . . . is it enough? Will you really ever be satisfied, after knowing all this wealth and luxury, living in Winnerow for the rest of your life with me working in my parents' store, the only future being my inheriting the business? Granted, it's all right, if Winnerow is the only thing we hope to achieve, but . . ."

  "Winnerow was enough for us before we came here, Logan. I don't understand this change of heart. What is it that Tony is offering you exactly?" I asked.

  Logan sat back, a self-satisfied smile on his face, a face that had suddenly become unfamiliar to me, unlike the face I had known for so very many years, a face filled with ambition. He straightened his shoulders and looked about the office as though it had been his for years.

  "A vice-presidency in charge of marketing," he announced. "I made some suggestions and he was very impressed. They just started to come to me, Heaven," he said, leaning forward again. "It was natural. I thought about different kinds of outlets, merchandising, advertising . . it all spilled off my tongue with ease," he added, his face animated, his eyes wide. I stared at him a moment.

  "You mean you would give up being a pharmacist?" I asked softly.

  "Oh, Heaven, what am I giving up? Think about it. Think about what we could have; what we could be."

  "I know what we have and I know what we can be," I said. I felt tears begin to well up in my eyes, but I fought back my urge to cry. "What would your parents say? They'll be heartbroken."

  "Are you kidding?" He started to laugh. "When they see what I am gaining! They're not stupid. They'll work the store until my father wants to retire and then they'll just sell it."

  I straightened up in my seat. I felt my pride come back in full dress parade, replacing my disappointment with flames of anger.

  "Maybe it's no problem for you, Logan, but I'm a teacher," I said. "In my own way I am doing a great deal for the people in Winnerow. It was my dream to do something significant there, to continue to do something significant there." I sat back and pictured the hill and valley people in church during my wedding ceremony. I remembered the look of pride on their faces, the look of hope in their eyes. They saw something noble and caring in me and in my return, and now Logan was suggesting I simply walk away from my dreams.

  "I realize that, Heaven," Logan said, standing up and moving around the desk. "And I explained that to Tony. He understands it, too, but he's made a wonderful suggestion, something that I'm sure will please you."

  "And what's that?" I asked with ice in my voice.

  "He wants to build a factory in Winnerow and have us develop some Tatterton Toys based upon the carvings the hill people do, the kind of whittling your grandfather used to do. Just think what that would mean for Winnerow and for the hill people. We would employ them to do the handicraft work. There would be jobs for people who presently barely scrounge out an existence. They'll be able to have decent homes; their children will wear decent clothing . ."

  "A factory? In Winnerow?"

  "Yes." He started to pace the office, reciting with excitement as he did so. "One of the first things we're going to create is a miniature Willies with the hill people, little rocking chairs, old folks like your grandmother and grandfather sitting in them, him whittling, her knitting; little farm animals, the children walking off to school . . . we even thought about having a moonshiner's still. . . ."

  "So that's why he was asking all those questions about Winnerow last night," I said, more to myself than to Logan. He nodded. I had to admit to myself that this suggestion took the wind from the sail of my opposition. I sat back, once again in deep thought. Logan was encouraged and rushed up to me.

  "Isn't it a wonderful idea? We're going to call the new set 'The Willies,' and just think of the irony . . . rich people buying replicas of the poor and the money finding its way into the pockets of the poor folks who will work in the Tatterton Toy Factory. Heaven," he said, some frustration coming into his voice, "how can you just sit there staring up at me? Doesn't it all excite you?"

  "It's exciting," I admitted. "But it's just all coming at me so fast. I have a great deal to think about. I never expected anything like this. We were stopping here for a couple of days and then going on to Virginia Beach to continue our honeymoon. I had no idea this stopover would result in a complete change of our lives."

  "Sure, sure, I understand how you feel," he said. "It's a lot to take in at o ce, but big and important decisions always are."

  "That sounds more like something Tony would say."

  "He did."

  "I thought so," I said. "Where is he anyway?" I looked to the doorway again.

  "He had to see about some of the arrangements for our reception."

  "How convenient," I said. "He knows what he's doing sending you
to convince me."

  "He didn't send me, Heaven. I insisted he let me speak to you first."

  I shook my head, befuddled, not knowing whether I was being manipulated or presented with an opportunity of a lifetime. I always felt that way when Tony involved me in his desires.

  "Men like Tony always get what they want," I muttered.

  "Really, Heaven," Logan said. "What's wrong with that?" I looked up at him. I understood Logan's excitement and his ambition, but I didn't like the change that had already come over him. He was too infatuated with Tony and with all that money could buy. Logan had never been one to be interested in power and wealth. It amazed me how convincing and how influential a man like Tony could be.

  "It's all right to get what you want," I said, "as long as other people aren't hurt in the process."

  "Who will be hurt here? People will only be helped, Heaven," he said, taking a calmer tone of voice. "Sooner or later something like this would have come up. Whether you like it or not, you are the heir to the Tatterton empire and fortune. There simply isn't anyone else. Funderstand Tony's feelings, his reasons for being so determined to make us a part of it. How can you blame him for that?"

  "I know," I said in a tired voice. "I don't blame him."

  "Well, then?"

  What could I say? If only I had grown up like a normal girl with a mother and a father who were with me and my brothers and sisters all our young lives, instead of being tossed from one abusive family to another, I wouldn't be so pained by such crises and decisions, I thought. Was I the Tatterton Tony wanted me to be or was I the Casteel I had been thought to be most of my life? Was I still running away from my true identity? I had hoped that by becoming Mrs. Logan Stonewall I would have put those problems behind me. I would simply be Logan's wife and we would raise our own family with no ties to the past. Now, looking up at Logan, seeing the excitement in his face, I realized that was a foolish dream.

  "Let me just think, Logan. Please."

  "Of course." He slapped his hands together. "And to enable you to do just that calmly and quietly, here's what I suggest--I suggest we cancel our reservations for Virginia Beach and continue our honeymoon here at Farthy."

  "What?" I looked up quickly. Was it going to be one surprise after another?

  "Sure. Think about it. We have everything anyone could have at a resort. Why, we have more. We have our own private beach. We don't have to mingle with the tourists. At night we can be driven into Boston in the limo and see some shows and shop, go to fine restaurants, and during the day we can go horseback riding here and lie around on the beach, or picnic. No one will bother us. Tony will be at work; your grandmother stays in her rooms. We'll have the place all to ourselves. What do you say?"

  "I don't know. I . ." I looked around. Everything was happening so quickly.

  "At the end of the week we'll return to Winnerow and tell my parents our decision."

  "Our decision? But . . there are so Many things to decide. For example, where will we live?"

  "You'll live here, of course," Tony said. He materialized in the office doorway so quickly, he was like a spirit that had instantly taken shape. "Sorry to interrupt, but I came in to get something and just overheard your last question."

  "Here?" I looked at Logan. He was smiling like a Cheshire cat. "What does he mean?"

  "We were saving that as a final surprise," Logan said.

  We? I thought. We were saving that as a final surprise? He was already thinking and acting like Tony's partner.

  "What final surprise?" They looked at each other like two conspirators. Did Tony just happen to arrive at the right moment or had he been standing outside the office door throughout our conversation waiting for his we? I wondered.

  "If you'l1 just follow along," Tony said, "I'll show you." Logan reached down and took my hand.

  "Come on, silly. Let's see what he has to show us. Come on." He smiled at me.

  I rose slowly, reluctantly, knowing I was being led to a view of my own future. We would all-be filled with trepidation if we could suddenly see the rest of our lives, I thought Right now I was being swept along, carried by a momentum that was not my own Like a marionette, I-held Logan's hand and we followed Tony up the marble staircase.

  "You remember these rooms on the south wing," Tony explained as he turned right at the top of the stairway. "We never even opened them for guests. My grandfather and grandmother lived on this side of Farthy. I always wanted these rooms to remain something special." He turned and looked at me. "I hope you feel that way, too, Heaven."

  "I don't understand what you mean, Tony," I said. He simply smiled and a light sprang into his pale blue eyes, bright like the golden flame of an oil lamp burning securely in its clear glass globe. Then he went to the large mahogany doors that were usually kept closed and opened them with a grand flourish, thrusting them back and stepping away to let me see.

  "The suite of Mr. and Mrs. Logan Stonewall," he announced.

  "What?" I folded my arms across my body protectively and turned to Logan. He stood there, still smiling like a Cheshire cat. "What is this?" I walked forward and entered the suite.

  Nearly everything had been redecorated. The French Provincial furniture in the sitting room had been reupholstered in a striped silk cloth in my favorite color: wine red. A large Persian rug had been placed over the hardwood floor. The walls had been done in a floral-patterned cloth paper, the colors in the petals picking up on the reds and whites in the upholstery and rug. Over the two large windows hung antique silk drapes, behind which were sheer curtains.

  Tony moved ahead and opened the bedroom doors. Even the oversized king-size bed looked lost in the enormous room, the floors of which were covered with a thick, beige carpet so soft to the step it felt as though I were walking over marshmallows. The windows on either side of the bed had been

  redesigned, making them longer and wider, thus providing the room with a great deal of sunlight and making it look bright and lively.

  The light oak posts of the bed with their handcarved threads rose to support a milk-white and apricot canopy. There was a matching bedspread with frilly edges, and rust-colored throw pillows had been placed at the center. To the right of the entry was a white marble vanity table, resting in the middle of a marble counter that ran nearly the length of the room. Under the counter were drawers framed in wood the shade of the marble counter. Above it was a wall of mirror, the edges of which were trimmed in gold.

  The entrance to what would be my bathroom began at the end of the counter. This additional bathroom had obviously been added recently, too. The fixtures were modern and plush, with the whirlpool tub set in a caramel-tinted tile floor. All the knobs and faucets were gold-plated. There were mirrors everywhere, which made the bathroom look larger than it was, although it was, in and of itself, one of the largest bathrooms I had ever seen. Even Jillian's seemed small in comparison.

  I turned from the bathroom and went to the immediate right of the bedroom door, where there was one enormous walk-in closet so deep and so long I thought it had as much space as our entire cabin in the Willies. There were even new garments hanging on the racks, dresses and skirts and suits of the latest fashion. I turned to Tony in amazement.

  "Went on a buying spree one day. Whatever you don't like, we'll send back. Don't worry about it." He smiled.

  "I don't believe this," I said. There were even pairs of matching new shoes displayed on the bottom shelves. Tony always wanted to control everything-- even to the clothes I wore, the way I dressed and put on makeup.

  But the one thing that caught my attention the most was the painting hung above the bed, just under the canopy. It was an oil capturing a scene in the Willies with a shack set in the belly of a small hill Two small figures sat in rocking chairs on the porch of the shack, looking remarkably like Granny and Grandpa.

  "Of course, you can change anything you want," Tony said.

  I stared at him a moment and then shook my head. Obviously, so much redecorati
on and

  renovation had to have begun some time ago. Tony had been planning this, hoping or expecting that Logan and I would live here. I wanted to be angry, to despise him for always getting his way, but the brightness and the richness of the rooms, rooms obviously built to cater to my taste, rooms created to make me feel happy and at home, tempered my indignation and smothered the sparks of my anger.

  I looked at Logan, who stood beside Tony, beaming. For a moment another, more frightening thought occurred to me. Could he have known about this all along, even before we came to Farthy? Did he always know that Tony would offer him a vicepresidency and did he simply pretend his amazement and excitement? Was he capable of such deception? I didn't think so, but under Tony's guidance, anything was possible.

  "How did you know we would even consider doing this?" I asked Tony. He shrugged. "It makes no difference. If you weren't going to live in this suite, it would still serve a purpose--it would be your personal guest suite, available only to you whenever you wanted to use it. I hardly think it was a financial gamble," he added, smiling. Logan laughed.

  "I wasn't concerned about your money," I said. His blue eyes narrowed, but he kept his smile small and tight. I looked at the painting again. "Who did that painting?"

  "One of my artisans at the plant. I sent him to the Willies and he returned with that. Rather good, I thought. What do you think?"

  "It's wonderful," I admitted. I embraced myself again. It was a wonderful painting. Every time I looked at it, it would fill my heart with warmth and my mind with memories, I could almost hear the rocking chairs squeaking.

  "So?" he said.

  I looked at both of them again. Logan had begun to imitate Tony's posture, Tony's smile.

  "I don't know. I feel like someone being swept along. I've got to think . . about a great many things."

  "Fine," Tony said. "Well, I'd better check on things outside." He looked at his watch. "With the reception coming up tomorrow, we haven't that much longer." He started out and then stopped in the bedroom doorway to turn back to me. "Don't be angry with me, Heaven, for caring about you and wanting you to be happy," he said and left before I could respond.