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Dear Heavenly,
Boy, I sure do hope you get this letter. Been writing my fool head off to you, and you never answer! I see Logan from time to time and he nags at me to write to you. I do, but I don't know what happens to my letters, so I'll keep trying. Heavenly, first of all I want you to know that I'm all right. Mr. Henry is not cruel, not mean as you no doubt think, but he can sure drive you to do your very best.
I live in his farmhouse which has twelve rooms. One of them is mine. It's a nice room, clean and kind of pretty in a plain way. He has two daughters, one named Laurie, age thirteen, and one named Thalia, age sixteen. Both are pretty, and so nice I don't really know which one I like best. Laurie is more fun; Thalia is serious, and gives everything more thought. I've told them both about you, and they say they're dying to meet you one day soon.
Logan told me about Our Jane's operation, and how well she's doing, and that Keith is happy and well. You know that's a load off my mind. Trouble is, according to Logan, you say little about yourself. Please write and tell me all that has happened since last you and I were together. I miss you so bad it hurts. I dream about you. I miss the hills, the woods, the fun things we used to do. I miss our talks about our dreams, miss so many things. One thing I don't miss is being hungry, cold, and miserable. I have lots of warm good clothes, too much to eat, especially milk to drink (imagine)--and cheese and more cheese.
I'd write a letter two thousand pages long if I didn't have so many chores to finish before bedtime. But don't worry, please don't. I'm fine, and we will meet again someday soon. I love you,
Your brother,
Tom
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I sat thinking about Tom long after I finished the letter. Then I hid his letter away with those from Logan. Had Kitty somehow kept Tom's letters from me? That wasn't really possible since I was home every day while she worked, and I brought in the mail almost every day. I stared around my cluttered room, knowing Kitty had been in here and moved things about. It wasn't really my room as long as Kitty kept her "thins" locked behind those cabinet doors, and obviously she checked over all my belongings. Her huge pottery wheel was shoved into a corner, and she had shelves everywhere filled with little knickknacks where my books would have fitte
d nicely. Kitty had no use for books on her shelves. I sat down at my small desk and began to answer Tom's letter. All the lies I'd told Logan would also convince Tom that Kitty was an angelic mother, the best ever . . . but I didn't have to tell lies about Cal, who was the best father possible.
He's truly wonderful, Tom. Every time I look at him, I think to myself, that's how Pa should have been. It feels so good to know that at last I have a real father I can love, who loves me. So stop worrying about me. And don't forget one day you're going to be president--and not of a dairy firm either.
Now I'd heard from Tom, and knew Our Jane and Keith were happy, and Logan wrote that Fanny was having the time of her life--so what did I have to worry about? Nothing. Nothing at all . . .
Fifteen Hearthrobs
. EARLY-MORNING LIGHT IN THE CITY FOUND ME AWAKE about six, when once I'd risen at dawn to begin my day. Downstairs in the second bath I took a quick shower, put on clean clothes, and began breakfast. I was looking forward to returning to school and renewing my neglected friendships. Unbeknownst to Kitty, I had a brand-new outfit that fit perfectly. Cal had paid far too much for it, but I wore it with so much pride. I saw the boys staring at me with ten times more interest now that my figure wasn't hidden by loose fabric. For the first time in my life I began to feel some of the power that women had over the opposite sex, just from being female, and pretty.
I could lose myself in class listening to the teacher talk about monumental people who left their marks on history. Did historians skip over character faults, just to inspire students like me to always strive harder? Would I leave my mark? Would Tom? Why did I feel so driven to prove myself? Miss Deale had always made the people in the past seem human, fallible, and that had given both Tom and me hope.
I made new friends who didn't understand, as my old friends hadn't, why I couldn't invite them home.
"What's she like, that mother? Boy, she sure is stacked. And yer father--wow! What a man!"
"Isn't he wonderful?" I said with pride. Funny the way they looked at me. The teachers treated me with special consideration, as if Kitty had told them I was a dimwit hill girl who couldn't have much sense. I studied like crazy to prove her wrong, and soon enough I earned the teachers' respect. I was especially good at typing. I spent hours and hours typing letters--when Kitty wasn't home. When she was, the clickity-clack of the typewriter made her head ache. Everything made Kitty's head ache.
Cal saw to it that I had dozens of pretty dresses, skirts and blouses, slacks, shorts, swimsuits, clothes that Cal and I selected when we went shopping in Atlanta, clothes that he kept locked in one of his basement lockers that Kitty thought held only dangerous tools. Kitty feared his electronic equipment almost as much as she feared insects. In a small hall closet meant for storing cleaning equipment my toolarge ugly dresses, selected by Kitty, hung with the vacuum cleaner, the mops, brooms, pails, and other clutter. There was a closet in my bedroom, but that was kept locked.
Even though I had the clothes, still I had to decline the invitations that came my way, knowing I had to scurry home and finish cleaning that white house that needed so much everlasting care. Housework was robbing me of my youth. I resented the hundreds of houseplants that needed so much attention; resented the ornate elephant tables with their silly fake jewels that had to be carefully washed and polished. If only one tabletop weren't cluttered I could have made one clean swipe with my dustcloth, but I had to lift and move, shift and be careful not to scratch the wood; then run to fold Kitty's underwear, hang her dresses, blouses, put the towels in the linen closet and be sure only the folded ends showed in front. A thousand rules Kitty had to keep her house a display piece. And only her "girls" ever came to admire it.
Saturday afternoons more than made up for all the abuses Kitty felt were my due. The hard, brutal slaps that came so readily over any trifling mistake, the cruel words meant to destroy my self-confidence, were more than paid for by the movies, by delicious restaurant meals, by trips to amusement parks when the days weren't rainy or cold. In the park Cal and I threw peanuts to the elephants, and scattered cracked corn to the wild ducks, swans, and geese that came running up from the zoo lake. I'd always had a way with animals, and Cal was charmed with my ability to "talk" to chickens, ducks, geese, even elephants.
"What's your secret?" he teased when I had a wild-looking zebra nuzzling my cupped palm looking for treats. "They don't come running to me as they run to you."
"I don't know," I answered with a small, wistful smile, for Tom used to ask the same thing. "I like them, and maybe they can tell in some mysterious way." Then I told him about the days of stealing, when a certain farmer's dogs hadn't been charmed with my abilities.
Real autumn came with brisk cold winds to blow away the leaves, and wistful thoughts of the hills and Grandpa kept coming back. A letter from Logan had given me the address of where Pa had put him, and that was enough for me to write Grandpa. He couldn't read, but I thought someone might read my letter to him. I wondered if Fanny ever visited him, if Pa went to Winnerrow now and then to visit her and his father. I wondered so many things I sometimes walked around in a daze, as if the best part of me were still in the Willies.
I planted tulips, daffodils, irises, crocuses, all with Cal's help, as Kitty sat in the shade supervising. "Do it right. Don't ya mess up my six hundred dollars' worth of Dutch bulbs. Don't ya dare, hill scum."
"Kitty, if you call her that again, I'll dump all these worms we've dug up in your lap," Cal
threatened.
Instantly she was on her feet and running into the house, making both Cal and me laugh as our eyes met. With his gloved hand he reached out and touched my face. "Why aren't you afraid of worms, roaches, spiders? Do you speak their language, too?"
"Nope. I hate all those things as much as Kitty does, but they don't scare me nearly as much as she does."